


Attachments

by scarletjedi



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Genre: Complete, Lost Love, Luke Skywalker is made of Sunshine and Tempered Death, M/M, Rebuilding, bucking the jedi code, star wars big bang 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 00:52:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10820298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletjedi/pseuds/scarletjedi
Summary: Luke Skywalker becomes a Jedi, not the last of the old, but the first of the new.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Star Wars big Bang. Many thanks to Mara Wilson for being a wonderful Beta, and to my wonderful artist, errantnight, for their amazing work.

Luke told himself, when his heart skipped a beat at the sight of Biggs, that it was just surprise. He said the way that his heart thundered was just excitement—Biggs looked great in his uniform, swaggering and powerful. Luke told himself the ache in his chest was from missing Biggs, the empty hole in his life that he had been trying to ignore.

“Well, they’re right about one thing, Luke. The Rebellion against the Empire is a long way from here. You know I doubt the Imperials would bother with this system.”

Luke shook his head, his heart falling. He would have sworn that _Biggs_ would believe him, even if the others all thought he was a sun-baked nothing. He’d always believed Luke _before_. “But I could have sworn I saw—“

“Hey, come on.” Biggs-- bigger than life like always, but _real_ and _here_ \-- smiled, brilliant and conspiring, and said “I’ll tell you what. Let’s take a spin in that landspeeder of yours, huh? I’d like to take one last look at Beggar’s Canyon, for old times’ sake.”

Luke could only nod and agree, dazzled by that smile and ignoring the way his gut clenched. “Sure, Biggs.”

Biggs hopped over the side of Luke’s landspeeder, the move practiced and easy, and Luke licked his lips before he climbed in himself. They didn’t speak much on the way out to Beggar’s Canyon, nothing of any importance, anyway. Biggs asked about life without him, and Luke mocked Biggs’s mustache.

There was something Biggs wasn’t saying. It may have been that he was shipping out in the morning; he hadn’t said, but despite what Fixer said, Luke wasn’t stupid. Luke knew it was bigger than that.

Luke parked his speeder in the shade of a jutting heap of rock and powered it down as far as he dared. With all the reports of Tusken activity, it wouldn’t be wise to shut it down completely. They’d be dead before it had finished its initial sequencing.

Biggs jumped from the speeder, walking over to the cliff’s edge to see the view of the canyon. The air blew Biggs’s hair every which way, and Luke held his hat to his head as he walked up after.

In the distance, Luke could see the stone needle. It was a clear day, (if it wasn’t, a sandstorm could be on the rise, and that could kill you just as easily as the sandpeople, and twice as quickly). If Luke squinted, he thought he could just about make out the dark spot from where he had lost his stabilizer.

Standing there, Luke told Biggs about his run through the canyon, about Fixer’s bravado and Windy’s fear—about the way he had felt like the most powerful force in the universe as he shot through the needle. Biggs laughed with him as Luke recounted Uncle Owen’s ire and Luke’s grounding.

Laughter fading, Biggs shook his head. “You oughtta take it a little easier Luke,” he said, though Luke waved him off. “I mean, even if you are the hottest gully-jumper this side of Mos Eisley, you’re not a podracer. You keep it up, buddy, and one day, whammo, you’ll be nothing but a dark smear on the side of the canyon wall.” 

Luke laughed, pushing away a spark of bitterness with long practice. In the history of podracing, there had only ever been one human winner, a slave boy whose name was never officially recorded. He beat Sebulba, effectively ending a brilliant racing career, then disappeared. Fixer would rag on Luke for wanting to be the second—not that Fixer ever thought Luke _could_ —but Luke’s gaze had always been set a bit higher. It was Biggs who’d always believed that one day, Luke wouldn’t just be gazing. 

Besides, Luke knew Biggs spoke from honest concern and affection—not like the others whose comments always smacked of jealous annoyance (Fixer, Deak) or deep-seated apathy (Windy, Camie). 

But—Luke didn’t know how to explain it—the way he felt when he was in the air? It was like coming home—like he wasn’t stuck on this third-rate dustball—and everything else...fell away. 

Luke knew, the way he knew his own name, that he wasn’t going to die in some stupid accident in Beggar’s Canyon. Not when he could fly it blindfolded. 

“Why’d you want to come out here, anyway?” Luke asked, shaking it all off.

“Like I said. Old times’ sake,” Biggs said, but there was something off in his tone, and he stared at the desert like he was committing it to memory. “I mean, who knows when I’ll be back this way, right?” 

“I guess,” Luke said. _Never_ whispered a voice in his mind, and Luke pushed it away. It was just fear talking. Right?

Biggs laughed suddenly. “You know, I don’t know how I lived through half the crazy stunts we pulled,” he said. 

“Yeah,” Luke said, and was relieved to laugh with him. “Boy, if we had the ‘hopper right now, we could give those womp rats a surprise.” 

Luke’s laughter burned cold when Biggs turned it down, mentioning off-handedly being “valuable property,” quoting some regulation about “Keeping in mind the expense of cadet training, all graduates shall refrain from…” blah, blah, blah. Biggs’ mocking was clear, but Biggs could laugh like that. The Darklighters had been free for generations, long enough to think like farmers and free men, not freedmen. To Biggs, Luke knew, slavery wasn’t nearly the same threat as the sand people or even the Jawas. 

Luke, the freeborn son of a freedman, could make those jokes, but not without the deep well of irony and bitterness that colored his words, saying “I am a person and no one’s property.” 

Biggs crossed his eyes and Luke forced it away. He found himself giggling at the look on Biggs’s face. “You?! Do they happen to know how many stabilizer veins you’ve bent up on the back stretch down there? Or how many times you almost wiped out the needle, huh?”

“I figured it was better not to mention those to my instructors,” Biggs said through his laughter. 

When their laughter trailed off, Luke spoke, more honestly than he intended. “It hasn’t been the same without you, Biggs. It’s been so quiet.” His tone was wistful in the face of the ache in his chest that pulsed with his heartbeat. 

Biggs hummed a laugh. “I’ll bet.” 

Luke huffed through his nose. “Yeah, you were always number one around here, Biggs. You were the one that made things happen.” Nothing happened now. The others just weren’t interested, and Luke didn’t know how to get them to try. 

“Well,” Biggs said, and it sounded like some _party line,_ like the _wermo_ who ran the recruiting office for the Trade Federation. Luke would bet good credit that Biggs had met his fair share of _wermos_ off planet. “It’s a big galaxy, Luke. At the Academy, everybody was number one back where they came from. All of a sudden, I was just a face in the crowd.” 

Luke doubted that Biggs could ever be just another face in the crowd. “Yeah, but you _made_ it, Biggs. You’re gonna see all those places we used to talk about.” Corellia. Imperial Center. Naboo. 

“Yeah,” Biggs said, trailing off, unsure for the first time, and Luke felt his stomach drop. Here it was. The air between them vibrated like a plucked string from a bass mando. 

“Luke…did you ever wonder why we’re friends?” 

“What?” Luke blinked. That’s not what he had expected at all. His heart began to pound. 

Biggs gripped Luke’s bicep and leaned in, as if they needed any further privacy than being out in these wastes. His eyes were very dark, and Luke couldn’t look away. “The rest of them, back at Anchorhead, they’ll never leave Tatooine, maybe never get as far as Mos Eisley—“ Biggs sounded almost angry about it. “Have you ever thought about that?” 

In his more uncharitable moments, perhaps, when Fixer was throwing his weight around and Camie was openly contemptuous—when Deak and Windy showed their lack of spine and sided with anybody _but_ Luke. 

“Not exactly,” Luke said, and Biggs scoffed--as always, hearing what Luke didn’t say. 

“Fixer’s just smart enough to know he’s better off being a big noise in a small room—and Camie’s just dumb enough to think she's made the prize catch hereabouts! Windy’s a follower and Deak’s the follower of a follower—“

“What’s your point, Biggs?” Luke interrupted, his skin starting to itch. 

Biggs’s eyes were intense, and Luke heard the thrumming intensify, could almost feel it in his teeth, his bones. “You _will_ make it off Tatooine, Luke, and they know it. That’s why they’ll never accept you.” 

And that hurt. It didn’t matter that Luke had heard it before, but that thrumming something _burst_ in Luke’s mind and he _knew_ Biggs was right, but—

Luke shrugged, awkwardly. “Aw, they’re not so bad. I don’t really mind them.” He couldn’t. They were all he had left as friends, now that Biggs was gone. 

But Biggs was already shaking his head. “Then how come you work so hard at being the hottest pilot around, huh?” Biggs cried out, his temper hot. His eyes flashed and Luke’s breath caught as Biggs shook his arm in emphasis. He was always helpless in the face of Biggs’s passion. “You—hey! what’s that?” Biggs pointed, letting go of Luke. “The far side of the canyon?” 

Luke turned to look, dizzy from the switch, but he saw it quickly enough. 

“Sand people,” Luke said, grabbing for his macros before Biggs could tell him to, and handing them over. “Here.” 

Biggs looked through, adjusting the sight. “Yep,” Biggs said. “Three banthas and…five sand people.” 

Luke frowned. Seemed awfully small for a raiding party. 

“They’re heading out towards the wastes.”

Definitely not a raiding party, then. “I’m supposed to be keeping an eye out,” Luke said. “Uncle Owen’ll be furious if he finds out I left.” He pulled the hat from his head and twisted it in his hands. “I should head back.” If something happened to his aunt and uncle because Luke fucked off—still, Luke made no move to leave. 

“I don't think it’s anything to worry about, Luke,” Biggs said and Luke looked at him doubtfully as he took his macros back. “I may have been off planet for a while, but I lived here for all my life, Luke. You don’t forget the desert easily,” Biggs said, crossing his arms. “And it sure as hell doesn’t forget you.”

“Yeah, well,” Luke said, quietly, kicking a small stone. “There’s a little excitement for you,” he said, unable to help the bitterness coloring his voice.

Biggs chuckled. “You only think this planet is boring because you’ve never been anywhere else.” He sighed, wiping a hand over his face, smoothing his mustache with his index finger and thumb.

“Luke, I—I didn’t come here just for a visit,” Biggs said, and Luke’s head spun, his ears ringing (they always did when something important happened. They rang when he threaded the needle, when Biggs was accepted into the Academy, when he and Windy were saved in the desert by crazy old Ben Kenobi—

“In case I didn't make it back, I wanted somebody to know.” 

“Know what?” Luke asked, the barest hint of desperation creeping into his voice. “Biggs—“

“At the Academy I made some friends. One of them is assigned with me to the Rand Ecliptic, and at the first port of call in the inner systems, we’re jumping ship to join the Rebel Alliance!” 

Luke didn’t know how to respond—didn’t know what Biggs was expecting—but his ears were ringing like he was standing under a signal bell, and he gave in to the panic—he spoke louder, trying to make himself heard. 

“That’s crazy! You could be wandering forever!” Luke could barely focus past the fear pounding within his heart. “The Empire can't even find them!” 

“Then it’s a good thing we’re not the Empire!” Biggs shot back. “If we can’t find the Rebels, then we’ll do what we can on our own!” 

The ringing stopped—the silence loud between them. Biggs stared at Luke like he couldn’t quite believe Luke was against this. 

“I’m not hanging around to get drafted into the Imperial Starfleet,” Biggs said, quieter but no less urgent. “The Rebellion’s spreading, Luke, and I want to be part of it. I want to fight on the side I believe in!” Biggs stared at him for a long moment, and Luke sighed, looking away first. 

“I know,” Luke said, softly. “I just wish I was going with you.” 

Biggs traded anger for surprise. “I thought you’d transmitted your application to the Academy! Your scores? No way they wouldn’t take you!” 

Luke shook his head. “I had to cancel—with the sand people and the harvest—“

“Come on, Luke!” Biggs cried, truly furious now. “Your uncle can hold off a whole raiding party with a single blaster! One of these days you’ve got to separate what seems important from what is!”

“But the farm’s just about to start paying off!” Luke shot back, angry for uncle’s sake. They didn’t see eye to eye often anymore, but he was still Luke’s family. “Look, Uncle Owen needs me for one more season—” Biggs turned away, and Luke’s voice rose after him. Biggs! I can’t just run out on him and Aunt Beru now!” 

“First it’s sand people, then it’s the crops!” Biggs shot back, gesturing sharply with his hand. “Meanwhile, your application’s been cancelled, Luke! Cancelled!” Biggs looked nearly desperate. “Luke, listen to me. Your uncle uses that ‘I fed you and brought you up’ line to keep you here. Can’t you see that?” 

Luke saw red. “Biggs! My aunt and uncle are all the family I’ve got! I don’t care what you or anyone else thinks of me; I can’t let anything happen to them!” His words echoed oddly in his ears, but he couldn’t care—not when Biggs was staring back with his jaw set. 

“Luke—“ Biggs tried.

“Oh, go on! Find your Rebellion!” Luke snapped. “Don’t you think I’d like to leave? You think I like staying behind?” Luke was near-trembling with the power of his anger, and Biggs reached out. 

“No, Luke, I never thought that.” 

“Well, that’s how it sounded,” Luke snapped, crossing his arms and looking back towards the canyon. 

He didn't move when Biggs touched him—a hand on his shoulder—but he let himself be turned and didn’t pull away when Biggs wrapped his arms around him. 

“I’m sorry,” Biggs said. “I don’t want to fight. I just—I know how badly you want to leave, and—blast it, Luke!—if anyone deserves to get off this rock, it’s you.” Biggs sighed. “I hate seeing you stuck.” 

It was enough to let Luke unclench, to raise his arms and wrap around Biggs’s waist, holding him closer. 

Gods, the smell of him—strongest at the collar of his uniform and as familiar to Luke as oil and ozone—made his eyes flutter. 

They had said their goodbyes when Biggs left, not making promises though they both had known it was Luke giving Biggs—out and free in the great wider galaxy—an out. If Biggs was getting out of here, Luke didn’t want to force Biggs back to this shithole if Luke _did_ get stuck here. They weren’t _together_ anymore, though they always said they’d reconnect off-world if they could. 

There was still no way Luke was going to let Biggs just leave without—

Their options were limited. Luke didn’t have any of his supplies, and even though the Tuskens had moved on, they were too open, too exposed, for anything too involved, but—

Luke learned into Biggs, pushing him until Biggs was forced to walk backwards, laughing.

“Luke, what…?” 

But Luke didn’t say anything, just reached up on his toes, pulling Biggs down to press their lips together. It was odd—odder than Luke was expecting, with the new mustache on Biggs’s face, his mouth still slack with surprise—and then it was achingly familiar as Biggs groaned, gripping Luke’s hips tightly and shoving them roughly together. 

Luke lost track of his plan for a long, stretched moment—the heat of the desert paling to the heat between them—until he placed his hand on Biggs’s chest and pushed him back a step until his back hit the rock. 

Biggs's eyes were wide and dark and Luke looked into them for a long moment as they breathed, the around them pulsing.

“Luke,” Biggs said, but Luke just shook his head, unwilling to break the charge between them, and sank to his knees on the heat-packed sand.

“Luke!” Biggs said again in surprise. “ _Muni_ ” His hand clenched restlessly on Luke shoulders, but he didn't push Luke away as his hands went to the fasteners on Biggs’s uniform.

This, at least, was familiar. The year before Biggs left, Luke had spent much of his time undoing Biggs’s clothes, touching and being touched. When there was nothing to do – it was Luke's second favorite way to fly.

He’d never undone _these_ snaps before on _these_ pants, but Luke pushed the thought aside even as it urged him on. He pulled down Biggs's pants, pushing his underpants out of the way just enough to reach in and grab Biggs’s cock – already hard and hardening further. Biggs hissed at Luke's touch, gasping when Luke leaned in and eagerly swallowed him down.

“Fuck, Luke,” Biggs panted, cock twitching as Luke hollowed his cheeks, running his tongue along the sensitive skin under the head. Luke breathed deep, head spinning with the scent of _Biggs_ and _sex,_ and sank down slowly until his lips touched the curling hair at the base of Biggs’s cock.

Opening his eyes, Luke looked up at Biggs to see his shocked and naked admiration. Luke hadn't been able to do this before Biggs left, though he had tried. But since then, Luke had experimented on a podpopper (which didn’t work so well), and then fabricated a silicon molding (which worked much better and occupied a special place hidden in his drawers), and he had practiced—determined to surprise Biggs.

 _Mission accomplished,_ Luke thought, and bobbed his head, swallowing. Biggs cried out, biting down against the cry belatedly as it echoed out. Or maybe it only echoed in Luke's head. His heart was pounding, and his head was buzzing with the need to breathe—but Biggs was close. Luke always knew when Biggs was close, like electricity up his spine, and Luke swallowed harder, determined to see Biggs through.

Biggs fisted his hands in Luke’s hair, pulling hard enough to bring tears to Luke’s eyes as he came, curling over Luke. Luke held him close, hands tight on Biggs his hips, pulling off at last once Biggs released his hold.

Luke gasped for air, the last of Biggs’s orgasm catching the side of Luke's mouth, his chin. He rested his forehead against Biggs's stomach.

“Fuck,” Biggs breathed. “Force, Luke, where did you learn that?”

Luke chuckled around the knot growing in his chest, not answering, and wiped his face with the back of his hand.

Biggs pulled Luke shoulders, pulling him up and kissing him, that damn mustache scratching strangely against Luke's lip. Still, his tongue was familiar against Luke’s own, chasing the bitter taste.

Biggs broke the kiss, mouthing down Luke's jaw and neck, sucking a dark mark on Luke's pulse as he worked his hand into Luke's pants. Fisting Luke’s neglected cock, he held it tight as Luke thrust, squeezing his fingers in expert rhythm until Luke came with Biggs's name on his lips.

Luke took Biggs home to the Darklighter farm, hugging him tightly before he left, and told himself he would see Biggs again—that the dread in his gut was just longing—that Biggs wouldn't die before Luke saw him again.

  
  


(When Luke saw Biggs next, he was decked out in orange, and they were both on their way to run against the Empire’s superweapon. He ignored the pulsing threats that hummed in the back of his mind in the same place where he had seen and not seen the blaster remote. When Biggs died in the shower of sparks, Luke told himself that the aching darkness in his heart was just grief.

He was never very good at believing his own lies.)


	2. Chapter 2

Luke was far too shaken from the loss of his family – heartsick and numb, his temper frayed to snapping – to really notice Han Solo in the darkness of the cantina. Luke scowled, bitter and knowing that it came off as petulant. That just made him scowl harder. The way Han looked at him, casually dismissive, had him snapping back, determined to prove to this – this _offworlder_ – that the Children of the Sons were not to be trifled with.

If not for Ben next to him — his calming presence like water, cool and still, — Luke would've been dead thrice over. Ben managed their deal, overbidding in the process. Every ounce of money sense Luke had _rebelled_.

“We could almost buy our own ship with that!” They could, and with the farm for sale, they could certainly afford it—and wasn't that so much better? To not be beholden or indebted to any, to be able to pick up and move without negotiation? That was freedom – and Luke knew you didn't pay extra for anything but.

Still, Ben pressed his hand to Luke's arm, asking for patience, and Luke settled back, the reality of it itching under his skin like sand. Luke knew that despite the last eighteen years on the Rim, Kenobi would always be a Core Worlder—a savvy one who had the balls to haggle with the hardest trader on the Rim, but Ben acted like he had deeper pockets than he actually did. No native Luke had ever met had ever pretended to be anything but poorer than they were.

If they didn't know you had money, they can't take it from you.

Still, Solo's eyes lit up with credit signs, and they had their transport off-world, finishing their deal just in time to be one step ahead of the Imperial troops that crawled all over Mos Eisley. Figures; the Empire ignored Tatooine all his life, and the minute he tried to get off planet, they were fucking _everywhere _.__

__Luke didn't spare Solo a second thought until they settled into their two-week trek to Alderaan._ _

__It wasn't actually surprising that the first thing Luke noticed was Han's mouth – that was what most people noticed first – the cocky drawl, the smug smirk…the truly terrible fast-talking and the ability to say the worst thing at the worst time._ _

__It was also, Luke realized, a very pretty mouth, with a full, pouty lower lip that begged to be sucked on and bitten. And when Han smiled, slow and easy, it was a mouth Luke knew would look amazing wrapped around his cock. (He had even given the image some deep thought on their second night in space, locked in the small ship’s ‘fresher late into the overnight shift, his pants shoved hastily down his legs and his cock thick and angry in his hand. Coming was less of relief than a shift in tension, and it left Luke antsy and spoiling for a fight.)_ _

__Of course, just as Luke was starting to think Solo wasn’t so bad, he would speak, and Luke would feel his temper twang, and that would be the end of that._ _

__Luke missed Biggs like an ache, and longed for that familiarity (that comfort, that touch) For all that Ben seem to know him, Luke didn't know Ben, not really, no matter how easy his company was. (Ben, too, grieved, though Luke was sure it was an older grief, one left to fester.)_ _

__Biggs wouldn't mind. Hells, Biggs would take one look at Han and want to join in. It was a pleasant thought to keep Luke company in this cold bunk at night._ _

__Luke spent most of his waking time with Ben, learning about the Jedi. He learned to meditate-- though he was doubtful he actually _managed_ to meditate. At least he understood the theory. Ben didn't talk much about Temple, but he spoke of the history of the order – the Reformation of the Sith. The Whills and the splintering factions. He spoke of the progress from Initiate to Padawan to Knight — Luke got the impression Ben was saying only what came to mind, and was, consciously or not, avoiding speaking of certain things. He would start to mention things and stop halfway through—or make references to things Luke didn’t understand—such as braid that Luke had never worn. When asked, Ben would go quiet and change the subject. _ _

__Some memories were locked away in too much scar tissue._ _

__Still, Luke knew the Code, knew the rules that the Jedi lived by. He knew the Force now, recognized its hum and felt it thrumming in his blood like the engines of the Falcon. He knew the importance of the weapon he carried. (“Your lightsaber is your life, Luke, remember that,” Ben had said one day out of the blue, his voice stern and his accent sharper than it had been, and the ache that Luke had felt through his tenuous grasp on the Force had him rubbing his chest for the next hour.)_ _

__Still, ‘saber practice was his favorite. Ben moved stiffly and Luke wasn't yet ready to spar, but Ben still twirled his blade with smooth precision, and it was a joy to watch._ _

__(Ben had mentioned offhand, in a manner that seems nearly absent-minded, a blade meditation. Luke felt that resonate deep within him, though he had yet to ask about it.)_ _

__But there were more hours in a cycle than were filled with sleep and training, and Ben seemed happy to spend the free time meditating. Luke suspected he was napping – Ben didn't sleep much at night. So, Luke found himself wondering what little of the ship there was to wander._ _

__Luke actually truly _met_ Chewbacca first. The Wookiee was seated in the hallway, feet dangling in an open panel as he soldered wire, goggles casually held up to his face in a manner that spoke of long habit and familiarity with the process._ _

__Of course the ship was always breaking. All machinery that worked this hard needed constant maintenance. It took Chewbacca growling for Luke to realize he was staring, and he started. But Chewbacca didn't seem angry, and he waved it off when Luke stammered an apology._ _

__He rumbled some more, inquisitive, and Luke shook his head regretfully._ _

__“I'm sorry”, he said. “I don't speak –“_ _

__“But I do,” Threepio chimed in from behind Luke, and Luke turned a bit faster than he needed to. “I'm sorry master Luke – I didn't mean to startle you.”_ _

__“It's all right Threepio.” Luke said. “But you can translate?”_ _

__“Of course sir. Master Chewbacca asked if you can use the welder.”_ _

__“Oh!” Luke turned back to Chewbacca “I can, yes. I can fix anything! I was responsible for the south range – those vaporators needed fixing almost every day.” He rubbed the back of his head. “We had to get real creative sometimes, and a few of them were more work-around than vaporator by the end.”_ _

__Chewbacca nodded and growled something, ending with a bark._ _

__“And engines?”_ _

__Luke shrugged “I rebuilt the T-16 from parts, and gave it more thrust, too.” He grinned. “It could hit podracing speeds, and I ran the canyon _and_ threaded the needle in it!” He sniffed, pulling himself back. “Modified my landspeeder, too.” _ _

__Chewie seemed pleased._ _

__“What do you know about hyper drives?”_ _

__That was how Luke found himself hanging upside down by his knees, spot-welding a bypass in place. Nothing on the ship looked pretty, but now that he was in it, Luke could see the care and the skill that made her run._ _

__“Okay,” Luke called up. “Try it now.”_ _

__After a moment, energy was flushed back through the system – and his repair held. Luke tested it with a gentle tap, but it held fast. He grinned._ _

__“Solid!” He called, and held his arm up. “Help me up!”_ _

__But the hand that gripped his was human – smooth, though heavily calloused. Luke was pulled upright, and he blinked in surprise at Han Solo, who was looking at him with a new assessment in his eyes._ _

__“Not bad, kid,” Han said. “You do know your way around an engine.”_ _

__“Told you,” Luke said, but without the edge that had cut everything he’d said to Han since they met. Something about the way Han stood had stripped away the attitude, leaving only the intelligence and a surprising amount of honesty._ _

__It was enough for Luke to answer in kind._ _

__Han snorted at that. “Yeah, I remember,” he muttered, but the bitterness was inward, so Luke said nothing. He just pulled out a rag to wipe his fingers clean._ _

__“Look kid, Chewie's covering me, but I got another four hours until I'm off-shift, and I can use the copilot.”_ _

__It was an offering—an apology and an opportunity. Luke nodded slowly._ _

__“Sure,” he said, and Han clapped his hands together._ _

__“Great! Let's get you up,” Han reached out again and braced Luke as he climbed from the panel. Han’s hand was heavy, warm, and firm, and when Luke ended up pressed next to him, his skin smelled pleasantly spicy._ _

__Luke breathed as deeply and subtly as he could while he followed Han to the cockpit._ _

__Han wasn't as much of an ass is the first appeared. He was pretty, (hell, Biggs would want to hear about it, would want Luke to tell him everything as Biggs fucked into him, and Luke would never be sure if Biggs was jealous or simply turned on, but Luke would never complain about the results)._ _

__Then Alderaan wasn’t Alderaan anymore, the moon that wasn’t a moon was the Death Star, and Luke rescued the Princess and watched as his last living tie to Tatooine and only hope of making sense of his future was struck down by the same monster who had murdered his father._ _

__Luke screamed, hearing his voice echoing his fury and loss around the hangar, and fired the blaster he had stolen from the stormtooper who had provided his uniform. Waves of white armor came at him, falling before him, but Luke’s focus was on Vader alone, watching as he kicked at the spot where Ben had been, seeing the disinterest as he turned away. Luke felt his blood boil._ _

__Then the Princess called his name. _Luke, it’s too late._ Reeling, Luke pulled back to stumble aboard the Falcon. He went to the turret gun still feeling that fire zing through his veins, blasting their way free as Chewie set their course for Yavin 4. Then they escaped into hyperspace and Luke had far too much time to think. _ _

__The cold of space was stronger now, as the fire left him and he realized he was chilled to the bone. Luke came back to himself, almost thinking it was nothing but a dream—but it was Leia, not Ben, who draped a blanket over his shoulders, and the words just slipped out._ _

__“I just can’t believe he’s gone,” Luke said, and as he said it he realized it was true because Ben didn’t _feel_ dead, not the way Owen and Beru had—it was probably a Jedi thing, Luke realized, and the bitter taste of that stuck in his throat. _ _

__Leia smiled at him, sympathetic, but there was a blankness in her eyes and Luke felt like the lowest heel._ _

__“But you! You—I lost everything, but I didn’t have much compared to _you_ —” Luke cut himself off, sure he was putting his foot in his mouth. _ _

__Leia’s smile grew, but it just made it more obvious that the smile didn’t reach her eyes (they were a deep, soulful brown, but dull with deep, shocking grief where Luke _knew_ they were usually filled with bright fire.) _ _

__“Alderaan was—” she began, and stopped, and Luke saw the grief catch up to her. Luke sat up, letting the blanket fall back as he pulled Leia to him, holding her close with her head under his chin._ _

__She didn’t cry, then—Luke didn’t think she could in front of a relative stranger, no matter how quickly they had gained that familiar ease with each other, but she clutched at him and shook, and after a long moment she pulled back and rested her chin on Luke’s shoulder. Luke tentatively returned the gesture, wondering if it was some Alderaanian custom, but finding it comforting and familiar anyway._ _

__“I lost my planet,” Leia said. Luke knew it was the first time she had said it out loud, perhaps the first time she had allowed herself to think it, “and that loss is too big to comprehend. I lost my parents, which I still can’t believe, but I have people in the Rebellion, and there are survivors of Alderaan scattered across the systems. But you...”_ _

__“I lost everyone,” Luke said, Leia’s meaning coming clear. “And yet, Tatooine spins on.” He sighed. “It’s never the bad planets,” he muttered, and Leia, giggled, surprisingly girlish, though she squashed it quickly._ _

__Luke sat once more, pulling Leia down with him and hugging her to his side, and she leaned into him when he wrapped his arm around her shoulders._ _

__Leia smiled when she saw him after that, sticking close to him when she could (a trend that would continue, sparking all sorts of rumors around the base from everyone except the pilots—pilots were the worst sort of gossips, but they tended to tell the _truth_ ), and her smiles for him started to have a spark of the fire he had seen when they’d first met even when her smiles for others were still mostly cold. _ _

__Luke was sitting with Leia, who was chatting with Chewbacca about—well, Luke wasn’t entirely sure. It was political, but Luke’s grasp of Wookiee was still relatively non-existent. Leia was engaged, though, and Luke was happy for her. For the first time in days, the tiredness he felt in his bones pulled at his eyes and he was not afraid to sleep._ _

__Later, hours perhaps, Luke woke alone on the seat, covered in that same blanket. Chewbacca was at the station, calmly checking systems. He nodded at Luke when he saw he was awake, then looked towards the cockpit. Luke sat up, smiling in thanks and running a hand through his hair. He stood, stretching his arms out above his head until he shook and the last of his sleep fell away, then headed towards the cockpit._ _

__He heard them before he saw them, nearly colliding with Leia on her way past._ _

__“Your friend is quite a mercenary,” she snapped. “I wonder if he really cared about anything...” she looked back at him, and continued, bitter. “Or anyone.”_ _

__Luke turned with her, watching her leave. “I care,” he called after her, but it fell flat in the empty corridor. He shook his head; he’d find her later, find out what had happened, but Leia’s temper sparked hot, and he sensed it was best to let her cool down first._ _

__Han was sitting in his pilot’s chair, acting like he was monitoring the control board, but Luke knew his mind was elsewhere. It wasn’t hard to guess where it was, either._ _

__“So...what do you think of her, Han?”_ _

__Han scowled, and Luke thought _bullseye_ as Han snapped: “I’m trying not to, kid!” _ _

__“Good,” Luke said quietly to himself; Any idiot could see the way the sparks flew when Han and Leia were in the same room, but Luke worried that Leia was chasing fire, and would far too easily welcome burns. He’d seen it before on Tatooine, when out of loss or pain or even boredom, folks would chase danger just to _feel_. He’d done it himself inthe canyons and the deserts, looking for a way to _fly_. _ _

__“Still, she’s got a lot of spirit,” Han said, musingly, and Luke stiffened. _Oh, that asshole!_ “I don’t know, what do you think? Do you think a princess and a guy like me—”_ _

__“No!” Luke snapped, and saw Han smirk, satisfied that’d he’d riled Luke up. Luke considered storming out the way Leia had, but turned back to the viewscreen in front of them, watching swirling patterns of hyperspace_ _

__Han _was_ a handsome man, and he knew it—Luke had seen him act selflessly and with genuine care towards others, had seen the small cracks that told him the rough attitude was a defensive attack—_ _

__But then Han opened his mouth, and Luke _knew_ he could never fuck someone that in love with himself._ _

__(Later, after Luke’s harsh words and Biggs and the battle, and Han returning to save the day and give Luke the shot—Luke threw himself into Han’s arms, triumphant that he had been _right_ , that there was something soft and warm under Han’s brittle facade—but Leia was there too, the spark bright in her eyes, and already Han was looking at Leia... and Luke, well—Luke could be happy for them.)_ _


	3. Chapter 3

Luke crashed three days after the battle. 

At first he’d been caught up in the thrill of it, the relief that they would survive, they were alive, and they had _won_ after so much loss—

Luke pushed it all down and away, though the impromptu party that night (where he had drunk until Han dragged him back to the Falcon to sleep it off), the awards ceremony (wearing a dead pilot’s clothes because, well, he wasn’t going to need them anymore and nothing could afford to be wasted), and the massive bug-out as Home One became mobile once more, looking for a better planet. 

Three days passed before Luke found himself in hyperspace, headed back towards the Rim (but not Tatooine, and that felt _massive_ somehow, in a way the rest of it didn’t), his duty shift done and his new friends occupied. The constant drive to go, go, go was gone, his instincts telling him that he was safe enough—for now, and Luke—

Luke stopped in the middle of a hallway, staring ahead without seeing much of anything. 

He was wearing a dead man’s clothes still—refitted from one of the pilots who had died at Scarif, only a few days before Uncle Owen had agreed to purchase a new pair of droids. 

Someone would wear Biggs’s clothes. Not Luke. They were too big on him, though he had managed to grab one of Biggs’s shirts before the quartermaster had cleared out Biggs’s bunk (it was just big enough for Luke to sleep in, and Biggs had worn it before he had—it still smelled of him). 

A hand landed on Luke’s arm and he gasped, startled (and startled to realize his face was wet, his chest aching). Luke wiped at his eyes roughly with the back of his sleeve he and turned to look. 

It was the pilot from the briefing. The other survivor. Red Two. Antilles. Wedge. 

Wedge had looked angry (scared) at the briefing, not willing to believe Luke when he offered assurance. He was emotional and vocal (“Cut the chatter, Red Two”) and the last person Luke expected to show compassion. 

“Hey,” Wedge said, his words edged with awkward emphasis. “You okay?” 

Luke opened his mouth to say he was fine, he just needed a moment, everything was okay—but all that came out was a broken sob, and Luke bit down swiftly on his lip, trying to keep the rest in. 

“Come on,” Wedge said, sliding his arm around Luke’s shoulders (like Biggs used—no, no. Nothing like Biggs), keeping Luke tucked against the wall as he walked them both forward. Luke kept his face down and in, knowing his tears were still flowing and absurdly grateful that Wedge was there as a barrier against the world. 

Wedge ducked them into an empty bunk room (Wedge’s bunk room, though Luke didn’t know where Wedge’s bunkmate was), and pushed Luke to sit down on his bed. The walk had helped a little bit, and Luke felt calmer, though still raw like he’d been left out too long in the desert winds. 

“You wanna talk?” Wedge asked, crouching down to look at Luke. Luke shook his head. Wedge nodded. “Okay. You wanna get hammered?” 

Luke laughed at that, just once; he’d never heard that term before, but honestly—“hammered” sounded wonderful just about now. “Sure,” he said. “Sounds perfect.” 

Wedge smiled, patting Luke’s knee. Wedge had a nice smile, Luke thought. It wasn’t brilliant and blinding, the way Biggs’s could be, or easy-sexy the way Han’s was, but it was honest and without censure, and it brightened Wedge’s whole face, making him look younger. It was a good look on him, and when Wedge turned away to dig for the bottle, Luke pressed his fingers to his eyes, letting the space-chill that had settled into his hands soothe his reddened skin. 

Wedge swore, something Luke didn’t understand but had heard Han say on their way to Alderaan when a fuse, already overtaxed, failed to hold. “I hope you don't mind sharing,” Wedge said, turning with the bottle and shaking it for emphasis. The liquid inside was a deep, clear purple, and the bottle was mostly full. “My glasses have decided to up and walk out on me.” 

“’S fine,” Luke said. It wouldn’t be the first time—bottles passed between his friends at night, around the fires at festivals, stolen and shared between Biggs and himself—

“It’s got a real kick, so you’re gonna wanna go—hey!” 

Luke breathed in sharply to hide the hitch in his chest and grabbed the bottle by the neck. He unscrewed the cap and tilted the bottle back for a healthy swig. 

It burned, like all good whiskeys did, smoky-sweet and warm in his belly, chasing away the deep chill that had seemed to settle in his bones. Luke swallowed twice and handed the bottle back to Wedge. Wedge’s eyebrows were too high on his forehead, but he took the bottle back without comment, sitting next to Luke on the bed and drinking himself. Wedge wasn’t quite as smooth as Luke had been—he coughed a bit as he passed the bottle back—but it was clearly a drink he was used to. It was good, too, leaving a fruity taste on Luke’s tongue when the smoke subsided. 

Luke’s head began to swim pleasantly, his limbs losing their tension. Whatever that drink was, it was good stuff—good enough that Luke felt a bit bad about the amount he was going to drink. As strong as it was, it had nothing on desert moonshine—though Wedge looked like he had every intention to trying to keep up. 

“I’m sorry,” Wedge said suddenly, a few minutes in. His words slurred a bit already around the edges. Luke wasn’t even sure he heard it, but he thought he did. Luke blinked at him, his eyes heavy and slow. 

“What for?” Luke asked, croaking a bit, but Wedge was already shaking his head. 

“I shouldn’t have left. I was hit, but it wasn’t nearly—“

“Shut up,” Luke said, tightly—he _didn’t_ want to _hear_ it—and Wedge’s mouth snapped shut. Luke was angry—furious—it was blinding, choking him, and he forced himself to breathe, easing the knot in his throat with another swig of whiskey. He pointed the bottle at Wedge. 

“It was my run, my call,” Luke said. “It could just as easily have been any one of us, and I don’t want to hear _anyone,_ wish to be dead, even if it’s to save someone else,” Luke looked away. “And if Biggs were here, he’d tell you the same.” 

Wedge looked at Luke, far too serious and solemn for the sloshing ache in Luke’s head. “He used to talk about you, you know,” Wedge said. His voice was softer now, like a secret or something sacred. “We were bunkmates—he’d tell me of all the adventures he and Luke Skywalker used to have on Tatooine.” Wedge drank from the bottle. "Said you were crazy, some of the shit you pulled.” Wedge sniffed. “He was crazy about you.” 

Luke closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe as his face twisted. “It was mutual,” he said at last, too aware that it was the first time he’d admitted such out loud. 

Wedge looked down at the bottle. He raised it, holding it outstretched but still in Luke’s reach. Luke reached out a hand, wrapping it over Wedge’s own. Wedge’s hands were warm and they felt very alive under Luke’s own. “To Biggs,” Wedge said, and Luke had to swallow around a terrible lump. 

“To Biggs,” Luke said, as loudly as he could, which was not very loudly at all. 

Wedge pushed the bottle towards Luke and Luke drank, then Wedge pulled the bottle back to drink for himself. Both of them still holding on, Wedge splashed some on the floor. 

Luke blinked down at it. “Whuzzat for?” he asked. 

“Corellian custom,” Wedge said. “A drink for the living, and then a drink for the dead.” 

Luke nodded, thinking about the desert rites he had been to; there was no spilled water in the desert, nothing except for the deepest of oaths. Blood oaths, bound with the waters of the body. 

The dead received no waters, the need of the living too great. Luke thought Biggs would think it strange as well, but then again, for all that Luke had wanted to get away, it was always Biggs who _knew_ things. Biggs was the one who read about other planets, who would show up at the Lars farmstead with a data pad full of off-world magazines, outdated and free but still from out _there_. Biggs wouldn’t be taken aback by strange customs, would adapt to life off Tatooine and not be stuck, still stuck the way Luke was stuck with his cold hands and Rim accent and—

Luke cracked, the sob issuing forth, and Wedge acted surprisingly fast for a man so drunk, pulling Luke in by his shoulders, tucking Luke’s head against Wedge’s chest and holding on. He held on so tightly that Luke thought wildly that Wedge was the only thing holding him together like some on-the-fly patch job. 

It was only when Luke realized that Wedge was crying too, big fat tears that rolled near-silently down his face, that Luke allowed himself to truly shake apart. 

They fell asleep like that, curled together in Wedge’s bunk, exhausted from their grief. When he woke the next morning, still pressed against Wedge, Luke felt wrung dry but lighter for it. He cleaned himself up in the room’s tiny ‘fresher, and when he came back into the room he saw Wedge sitting up, yawning and scratching the back of his head. 

Luke stood in the doorway, fiddling with the edge of his sleeve. “Thanks,” he said. Wedge smiled at him, tired but warm, and shrugged. 

“We’re all that’s left of Red Squadron,” he said. “Gotta stick together now, yeah?” 

Luke smiled, lowering his head; that wasn’t the only reason, Luke could tell. Beneath his sour and pessimistic exterior, Wedge was a good guy, one who cared probably too much. Now Wedge had turned that care on Luke. 

Luke nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Gotta stick together.” 

***

One night on Hoth, when they were still digging out the tunnels, Luke and Wedge had both managed to be in their shared quarters together for a night. Luke had taken one look at the beds on opposite sides of the room, the snow all around them, and felt himself shiver down to his bones. It had been Wedge who suggested pushing the bunks together, huddling together through the night to keep warm. Luke had fallen on the opportunity gratefully, and was soon wrapped around his friend. 

They had chatted a bit before Luke finally dropped off; he hadn’t been sleeping well, and between the warmth and the steady beat of Wedge’s heart under Luke’s ear, Luke was finally able to sleep. Before he had drifted off, however, Wedge had mentioned that there had once been a Jedi Temple on Corellia. “My Nan always said it was where they sent the black sheep—the Jedi who bucked tradition too much, but not so much that they needed to be watched for Darkness. The Jedi on Corellia were closer to the people than the Jedi of the Temple, but they, too, answered the call in the Clone Wars, and the temple had emptied. It had been torn down at the end of the war, by a massive explosion that had shaken the capital, and few people talked about it these days, but Corellians took pride in following their own ways, and the Imperial Order against the Jedi never quite took on Corellia the way it did on other worlds so close to the Core. 

Luke had learned quite a lot about the order from listening to Wedge recount his Nan’s stories. For example, Wedge considered his Nan’s stories little more than a fairy tale—at least, he had until he met Luke and watched this back-water, podunk little sand-rat of a farm pilot make an impossible shot against impossible odds and save _everybody_. 

“I always thought fairy tales would be taller, though,” Wedge said, as if he was haggling over a price in the market, and Luke shoved at him half-heartedly. Luke was not foolish enough to kick his main source of warmth out of bed, no thank you. It was impossible that Hoth was _colder_ than space, but it _felt_ like it was—Luke never shivered so badly he could feel the strain in his back muscles when he was in his X-Wing. 

Of course, his X-Wing was _properly heated,_ so...

Wedge laughed as he rocked back, his eyes bright and twinkling. Corellia was temperate planet with seasons as well as ice in the polar regions, and the Corellian attitudes towards personal freedom and space meant that there were some willing to live closer to that ever-present winter if it meant that they would have fewer neighbors. Wedge’s grandparents had been such people, and he’d lived with them for several years before joining the Imperial Academy. 

“It was miserable,” Wedge had said, “but I learned a lot about living in snow.” Like to always keep a dry pair of socks and underthings, and to change them when you sweated. “Otherwise it’ll freeze and your core temperature will drop.” He showed Luke how to wear his cold weather gear and how to drape his scarf so he could use it to cover his face. “Your nose’ll go first, if you get frostbite.” He was also constantly passing Luke extra rations and sweet, fatty things that Luke knew came from his personal stash. “The cold’ll eat up calories. You’re too thin for cold weather; you gotta eat.” 

Luke was never one to turn down food, and he had to admit that he did feel better after; his missions out on the ice field began to be not good, but bearable for longer. He wasn’t putting on weight, but he wasn’t losing it, either, and Wedge seemed satisfied. 

“I take after my mother,” Luke said. “Aunt Beru said she was small. It helped, growing up. I needed less than I would have if I had grown to be my father’s height—apparently, he was close to two meters tall.” 

“One point eight five,” Wedge said, certain, and Luke sat up in surprise, ignoring the way Wedge yelped as the cold air rushed in. 

“How do you know that?” Luke demanded.

Wedge tugged at the blanket, trying to get Luke to come down. “It was in a fanmag I found at my grandparents’—stop letting the cold in.” 

Luke stared for a minute, his pulse heavy in his chest, but he sank back down. “He had a fanmag?” he asked, voice quiet and young, and Wedge stopped tugging to look at him. 

“Of course he did—General Anakin Skywalker was famous; they called him ’The Hero With No Fear.’” Wedge’s voice was soft. “He was the guy they sent when they needed the impossible done—him and General Kenobi, The Negotiator.” 

That name did not surprise Luke in the least; he’d seen Ben talk his way into and out of enough conversations, and Ben was always trying to get Luke to watch his words. 

“You...really didn’t know?” Wedge asked, and Luke shook his head. 

“They never talked about him,” Luke said, quietly. “Only every once in a while they’d forget and let something slip. I didn’t even know he was a Jedi until Ben told me.” Luke huffed a breath through his nose, pulling his lips back in something that would never truly be called a smile. “I don’t even know my mother’s name.” 

Wedge bit his lip, as if he needed the help holding back the words, and Luke narrowed his eyes at him. “What?” he asked, slowly. 

“I—I don’t _know,_ ” Wedge began. “I want to make that clear. But the fanmags were _convinced_ that your dad had a secret relationship, and posted all _sorts_ of theories. There were even a few that said your dad was having an affair with Kenobi, but—”

“No,” Luke said. He’d heard the way Obi-Wan had talked about his father. “They were family, but not like that.” He was sure of it. “Who else?” 

Wedge shrugged with one shoulder. “Anybody he spoke to for more than a few minutes, it seemed like, but the biggest possibility was Senator Amidala of Naboo.” 

“A Senator,” Luke laughed, bemused and delighted. “I don’t believe it.” But—

And yet—

Luke had done his best to continue his training as a Jedi, practicing what Ben had taught him so quickly aboard the Falcon. In fact, Luke was starting to itch, like he was ready for the next step, but had no idea what that step could be. He was starting to get the hang of when the Force was trying to tell him something. Sometimes it rang with truth, other times it hummed a warning against falsehood—

And sometimes it was conspicuous in its absence, which was the case now—there was _something_ to this Amidala theory, and Luke just had to figure out what it was. 

Wedge shifted in the bed, drawing Luke’s attention back to him. “I can tell you what I remember?” Wedge offered, and Luke nodded, finally settling back down. Wedge wrapped his arm around Luke’s shoulder, and Luke laid his head on Wedge’s chest ( _like Biggs and nothing like Biggs_ ), listening to his friend talk about Anakin Skywalker—The Hero with No Fear. A few days later, Luke returned to the empty room, Wedge not yet off shift, only to find a pile of data-chips and folded flimsiplast and a note from Wedge that read “It’s not as coherent as my grandmother’s collection, but it’s better than nothing.” Luke blinked at the note, trying to think past the cold-fog in his brain, before he realized— _fanmags_ —the entire pile was fanmags. They had to have been collected from people around the base, and Luke felt something warm towards Wedge bloom in his chest. He picked up the first print fanmag, and realized that it was his father on the cover— 

_Hero With No Fear Fights On_ the headline proclaimed, but Luke couldn’t look away from his father’s face—dark blonde, like Luke now that his hair had darkened a bit away from the desert sun, and his own blue eyes. Anakin was staring stonily into the middle distance, and Luke thought his strong jaw and chin was familiar, and thought of the picture of grandmother Shmi that Beru had kept in the family shrine. Anakin’s arms were folded, and there was something about his posture that made Luke realized that his father hadn’t posed for the photo—they had cropped this image from another. Luke wondered what Anakin had been listening to that would give him such an expression. He looked—tired. About Anakin’s elbow, another, smaller, headline cried out about a “Secret Pregnancy! Amidala carrying secret love-child! Look inside for the evidence gallery!” with a picture of the woman who had to be this senator—a smaller dark-haired woman who was clearly photographed on her way somewhere, surrounded by aids and with a protocol droid that looked a lot like Threepio. 

Luke sat on the bed and began to read. 


	4. Chapter 4

Buy the time Home One had established a presence on Hoth, Luke recognized that Han was no longer in love with himself first. That honor went to Leia—who, Luke knew, would deny her own attraction to Han with the same determination she used to protect Alliance secrets. Han, on the other hand, would readily admit it—if he only recognized it in himself. 

Which he didn’t.

At all. 

It was amusing, really. And frustrating. Still, it wasn’t past Luke to mess with Han. Somehow the smuggler had managed to saunter his way into Luke’s family as the older brother Luke had never had—the obnoxious, overprotective older brother that Luke would both defend to the death and mock mercilessly. It was something to focus on, anyway, in the long, cold dark of Hoth’s night as they lay in Han’s emergency shelter, and Luke knew that Han was just happy Luke was alive to give him shit about Leia.

Leia, too, had settled into Luke’s heart in a place very much like where Luke thought a sister would live, and Luke would do anything for family, including following Leia’s lead when she kissed him—hamming up a pleased reaction when she had stormed off. It worked to make Han jealous, but both Luke and Leia knew that it was a step too far and would never happen again. 

Han had scowled, storming off after Leia, yelling about a kiss. Chewie had laughed and looked pointedly at Luke. 

_”I’m going to hear about nothing else from him, you realize this?”_

Luke’s understanding of Shirriwook had improved by leaps and bounds, and he understood most of what Chewie said these days even though he doubted he’d ever be able to speak it. (Luke knew human vocal chords weren’t built to make the right noises, but he had heard Obi-Wan screech like a Krayt Dragon in heat—if he could do that with the Force, than Luke ought to be able to speak like a Wookiee). 

“Yeah,” Luke said. “But his jealousy is ridiculous. They’re both crazy about each other—they just need something to give ‘em that last push, you know?” 

Chewie had snorted. _i_ “Maybe I’ll lock them together in the supply closet,’ he muttered, and Luke laughed. 

“Might work,” Luke said, and waved to Chewie when the Wookiee left to return to the repairs on the Falcon. 

It was the last Luke had seen of Han before everything went to hell. If he’d had known, if he’d realized, he might have said something differently—but as it was, the Empire attacked as Luke was getting discharged from Medical, and then he was fighting the walkers and after that, he took off for Dagobah. 

Yoda was...

He was...

Luke wasn’t sure if Yoda was the wisest being he had ever met or the craziest. The longer Luke continued his training, the more he started to think that the two were not mutually exclusive, and the more Luke suspected _Ben_ was crazy _before_ he went sun-touched—

Luke started to wonder if being crazy was just part of being a Jed. 

Still, Luke had made his promises, and he would hold to them. He _would_ be a Jedi, like his father before him.

***

_In the shadows beneath the tree, roots in his face, tangling in his hair and tearing at his clothes, Luke did not flinch from Vader before him. Luke ignited his ‘saber, ready to face his destiny, the blue glow illuminating the space between them. Vader wass almost hesitant as he silently lit his own blade, the red sickly in the air between them. Luke struck first, revenge for his father and Ben, Leia and Alderaan—for Biggs and for himself, and Vader met him blow for blow._

_Luke stepped back, feeling the thrill of battle—he didn’t know_ how _Vader appeared without Yoda knowing, but Luke was right that he would need his weapons. He was_ right _—_

_He struck and Vader faltered, and Luke swung and cut Vader’s helmet, head and all, from his shoulders._

_Time seemed to slow as Luke watched the helmet roll away, and then stop, facing him. The faceplate exploded in a shower of smoke and sparks, and when it cleared, Luke stared back at his own reflection and felt ill._

***

Luke’s lightsaber felt heavier after his failure at the Dark tree, and he felt it fitting, for it matched the weight that had settled on his shoulders and around his heart. His movement slowed and smoothed as his focus sharpened. He felt grounded, rooted, and stopped looking for the stars. 

Yoda seemed happy about that, at least, though he had been grim when Luke had returned to him covered in mud and regret. 

Just once, Luke didn’t want to disappoint his teacher.

Six months Luke lasted. It wasn’t the longest he had ever dedicated himself to a single project—hell, his skyhopper took the better part of two years, and he’d been working with what Ben had given him for nearly three before he ever made it to Dagobah—and his understanding of the Force and his skills had grown exponentially since he’d landed—though, Luke knew he was a far sight shy of being a true knight. So much he had learned, and there was _still so much_ —

But then he’d seen Leia, crying out, and Han in pain, calling for him. The future, Yoda had said, and when Luke said he had to help them, Yoda had insisted he stay or undermine all they had fought for. 

And so Luke found himself faced with an impossible choice: leave and save his friends-who-were-family or stay and train to fight for their cause. 

Sleep was still very far away, so Luke stood, climbing from his pallet on the floor and pulling on his pants and jacket against the night chill. Quietly Luke folded his pallet over, moving it out of the way (he was large enough to take up most of Yoda’s floor, and it wouldn’t be fair to inconvenience Yoda if Luke was still out when he woke). With a glance back, Luke slipped from the hut into the Dagobah night. 

The desert of his childhood hadn’t been quiet at night; night was when it was safe to travel, to emerge from a burrow or cave or to hunt. Luke had often drifted to sleep to the sound of the wind and the distant cries of dewbacks and banthas and dragons. 

But Dagobah was _loud_ , and despite his exhaustion, it had taken Luke weeks to be able to sleep through the night. 

Now that he had begun to grow used to the noise, to recognize what was a cry for help or a mate or food, he wandered from Yoda’s hut without fear (though he did strap his weapons belt to his waist. Not all of Dagobah was a test of his heart, and Luke had spent far too long with only his uncle’s blaster rifle between him and death). 

Luke’s feet, though habit perhaps, brought him to the clearing they used for training. Luke sat on a thick tree root, dryer than most, and looked up at the sky. 

Yoda hadn’t been wrong; his whole life, Luke had looked to the stars knowing that there was something _greater_ than himself, something that he was part of, that he could _be_ a part of, if he could only get out of the desert. Luke took comfort in the moons, in Ar-Amu’s blessings of waters and light (slave, freedman, and freeborn all knew the moons were the path to freedom, were Ar-Amu’s promise of freedom. For Luke, the first freeborn in his family, how could he not look to the sky and feel his heart swell?), and even when off-world, Luke had looked to strange constellations in the night sky and prayed and hoped and dreamed. 

There was no night sky on Dagobah, only that thick cloud cover, and Luke tried not to let his unease show. (How could there be life without Ar-Amu’s blessing? Is that why this planet felt so dark in places where light never touched? Sometimes Luke longed for the desert’s simplicity.) 

Still, it was not completely dark. Perhaps there was a moon behind the clouds, smiling down in faith toward her children who would never know she was there. 

_Sands,_ he missed the stars. 

If nothing else, it was dark enough that, even barring his humming presence in the Force, Luke would have known the moment Obi-Wan arrived from the blue glow that surrounded him. 

Or maybe not. Luke wasn’t sure if there was anything of Obi-Wan actually there _to_ glow. His eyes could deceive him, after all, and if they were nothing but luminous beings in the Force, maybe that glow was the Force itself made manifest—

Luke sighed, pressing his fingertips against his closed eyes, watching color burst behind his eyelids. 

“Easy, now,” Obi-Wan said. “Do that too much and you’ll cause yourself permanent damage.” Luke pulled his hands away just far enough to look at him, and Obi-Wan offered a smile. “It was a habit of mine, as well, in my Padawan days, especially when my master was being particularly...willful. He warned me against it often, but the habit continued through the Clone War, when I managed to pinch the nerve.” He chuckled, sad and fond like the old spacers that would come through Mos Eisley, reduced to transient labor. “There’s nothing quite like being blinded on a battlefield.” 

“Or in a cockpit,” Luke said, “I see your point.” He dropped his hands, rubbing his knees with his palms. He tilted his head. “You said your master warned you—but you didn’t mean Yoda, did you? I thought you said he trained you.” 

Obi-Wan smiled, his eyes distant. This ghost of Obi-Wan was less distant than Luke remembered old Ben, less prone to wandering thoughts, though Luke knew the pain cut just as deep, and he had a tendency to disappear before Luke thought their conversations finished. 

“Yoda was Grand Master of the Order when I was young, and swore off padawans after Dooku, my Master’s master, before I was born. He also oversaw the creche, and instructed the initiates in their first lightsaber lessons. He always said there was much wisdom in the words of our youth.” He ran a hand over his beard, his eyes bittersweet. “He taught me Shii-Cho and remained a mentor all my life.” 

“But no,” Obi-Wan smiled absently at Luke. “My master was named Qui-Gon Jinn; he was a rather famous negotiator in his day, and a bit a maverick with a talent for unusual solutions to complicated problems. He was well in tune with the Living Force—”

“Living Force?” Luke interrupted, surprised. Obi-Wan looked at him, gaze sharpening. 

“Ah,” Obi-Wan said. “For Thousands of years, the Order taught a duality in the Force, the Living Force that is tied to life itself, and the Unified Force that is tied to time and space. The Living Force lets the Jedi feel the life around them, and commune with that which lives. The Unified Force is what gives us insight and premonition. I was always strongest with the Unified Force.” 

Luke frowned. “Why was I never told this?” 

Obi-Wan looked surprised and sad, but then again, he always looked sad. “Because it’s a false duality. Your father taught me that, though I did not learn the lesson until my meditations on Tatooine. There is only the Force, and the Jedi had long since fallen into the trap of thinking of it in absolutes.” Obi-Wan’s tone soured on the last, and Luke’s mouth twisted as he thought over what Obi-Wan had said. 

“You miss him,” Luke said, and Obi-Wan smiled. 

“I did for a long time. He was one of the first casualties of the conflict we are still fighting, while I was still a padawan learner.” Obi-Wan sighed. “We didn’t see eye-to-eye often, but I respected him and...” he trailed off, and Luke felt his heart ache at the raw look on Obi-Wan’s face. 

“The hardest edict for a human Jedi to learn is the rejection of attachment,” Obi-Wan said, his voice low. “For the Code asks us to go against our very natures. We are a communal species, and we make attachments very easily—but Jedi must have nothing that they are not ready to lose, for their responsibility to the galaxy must outweigh their responsibility to their personal lives.” 

Luke looked away. “So because I am a Jedi, I am forbidden to help my friends? Then what’s the point? Are they less deserving of my help because I happen to know them?” 

Obi-Wan looked across the clearing. “Losing my master was the hardest day of my life until the day I lost your father,” he said, and turned to look Luke in the eye. “What are you prepared to lose?” he asked. 

Luke looked away.

He was preparing for takeoff within the hour, and when Obi-Wan said he couldn’t interfere, Luke saw the shine in his eyes. It looked a lot like starlight. 

***

Luke had been in no shape to be really aware of his situation when they first arrived back at Home Base, too far gone on painkillers and shock, consumed by the swirling winds of the Force that screamed at thim about the wrong/rightness of his parentage—but some time after waking from the tank but before he spoke with Wedge, Luke opened his eyes and knew where he was, and lay waiting for the other shoe to fall. 

He had gone AWOL in the middle of an active extraction: they would have assumed he was dead at best, a deserter at worst, and now here he was, back on board their ship, with nothing to show for it but a missing hand and just enough Force training to make him _trouble._ He was expecting to have the book thrown at him, to be demoted or put on probation—hells, he wouldn’t be surprised if they threw him in the _brig_ for this—

Yet, when Mon Mothma herself had appeared (and didn’t that make Luke sit up and try and fail to smooth his hair down), she simply listened to his account of his battle with Vader, looking sad and far too knowing, and told him that his squad was waiting for him when he was healed. 

Luke had blinked at her, uncomprehending, and she must have realized, for she smiled—that same sad, kind smile, and placed a hand on his shin. 

“I was a senator during the Clone Wars,” she had said. “I remember the Jedi generals: Windu and Koon and Kenobi and, yes, Skywalker. There were—-provisions, in the GAR, about, well. The clones called it “Weird Jedi Shit.”” Luke had laughed, caught off guard, and Mon smiled. “This Alliance was begun, in large part, by veterans of the GAR, and what little remnants of the Jedi order that remained. Those provisions are still in place, Luke, though the Jedi that they were created for are no longer.” 

There had been something about her expression, then, that had made Luke think, with sudden clarity, that _she knew._ Somehow, she had put the right pieces together and had come up with “Luke Skywalker’s father is—” or at least “Darth Vader is Anakin Skywalker” and, well—Skywalker was a common enough name in the slave quarters around Tatooine, but not in the greater galaxy, even if Luke hadn’t been shy about announcing to everyone who would listen that his father was Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight. 

Mon had left soon after that with the answers she needed, leaving Luke with much to think about. 

Not that he was doing much thinking at the moment. Luke’s hand ached below his wrist where there was now nothing but empty air, it _ached_ and he could do nothing but _let it ache_. 

Two-Onebee had said that his new prosthetic would be ready the next day; it took time to properly calibrate the machinery, and the synth-skin had to merge with his own cloned cells to create something that would blend seamlessly. Luke had been assured that his new hand would look real enough to fool even himself. 

Luke knew it wouldn’t. He was from _Tatooine,_ the last stop in the galaxy on the way to hell, and he’d seen his fair share of artificial limbs. The slaves had it worst, their prosthetics rudimentary, just functional enough that they could continue to work, but they weren’t permanent and were often taken away as punishment. (As if they were not, themselves, punishment. Everyone knew the most common reason for a slave to be missing a limb was that they ran, and could not run fast or far enough). The veterans, on the other hand—the grizzled old spacers turned to leather by the suns—they tended to have better limbs, and all of them to a one were heavy, more solid than flesh and bone even if they were covered with synthskin or leather. 

Idly, Luke wondered which his would be—a punishment or a burden. 

The door to the medbay whispered as it slid open, but Luke didn’t look away from the ceiling. It was hardly like he was the only one in Medical, and he knew it wasn’t Leia—she’d been his most consistent visitor, and while Luke didn’t mind distraction from his own darker thoughts, he knew she was using him for the same reason. 

“Well, well,” said a familiar voice, and Luke looked up instantly, feeling his grin grow and then hesitate as he took in the hard edge to Wedge’s eyes. “Look who finally turned up.” 

Luke winced, licking suddenly dry lips. “Wedge, I...” he began, but trailed off with nothing to say. What _could_ he say? _I’m sorry I left, but I had to go learn to be a Jedi in some gods-forsaken swamp?_ It was true, but Luke knew that wouldn’t mean much. 

Wedge stared at him for a hard minute, arms crossed and face flat, before his eyes flickered down to the bandaged stump lying on top of the covers on Luke’s thigh. His eyes softened as his mouth dropped in surprise. 

“Sithspit,” Wedge breathed. “The whole ship is buzzing about you being here, but nobody’s said why. What happened?” 

Luke opened his mouth to say—

Well that was the thing. Luke just wasn’t sure _what_ to say. 

Luke felt himself begin to tear up, and closed his eyes, as if that could keep them from leaking. Why did he always have to cry in front of Wedge? He took a deep breath, but when he let it out it shook, and a moment later he heard the screeching of a chair being dragged across the duristeel floor. A moment later Wedge’s hand, warm and solid, wrapped around Luke’s remaining hand, and Luke clutched at it as if it could keep him from drowning in this darkness. 

(Already, he felt more anchored, so perhaps it could, after all.) 

“I...had a vision, in the snow,” Luke said at length, when the knot in his throat eased enough for him to speak. “Of another Jedi, one who could teach me what I need to know.” Yoda would be so disappointed in him. “I had to go.” 

Wedge blew out a breath. “Did you find ‘em?” 

Luke nodded. “Yeah,” he said, and risked a small smile. “He wasn’t quite what I was expecting, and I was kind of a brat to him—”

“You? A brat? No!” 

“Shut up,” Luke whined, squeezing Wedge’s hand once more, and Wedge grinned at him. “I didn’t finish my training—I had a vision that Leia and Han were in trouble on Bespin, and I rushed off to help them—I couldn’t live with myself if I knew they were in trouble and I did _nothing,_ Wedge! How could I stay away?” 

Luke found himself wishing that Wedge could actually _give_ him an answer. Everything was so complicated, nothing had felt sure, felt _real_ , since Uncle Owen had relented and bought Artoo and Threepio—

“You did what you had to,” Wedge said, softly. “Nan always said a true Jedi did what had to be done, no matter the personal cost.” 

“That’s just it,” Luke said, and he knew he sounded wretched—he _felt_ wretched. “I’m not so sure I _had_ to go! It’s my fault they were tortured, Wedge! It’s my fault Han’s been taken and—”

“Hey, hey! Luke,” Wedge said, leaning in. “Look at me. How could it have been your fault? You weren’t there.” 

“Vader,” Luke said, and stopped, the truth rising in his throat like bile. 

Wedge paled. “Vader was there?” he whispered, and Luke nodded. 

“They were bait, Wedge. Bait it in a trap for _me_ because Vader wanted to—” Even though the medical pajamas opened in a deep V around his neck, Luke still felt choked by them. He shifted, but the suffocating feeling remained. 

“He wanted to kill you,” Wedge said, wide-eyed, and Luke closed his eyes. 

Wedge wasn’t entirely wrong. If Luke had taken Vader’s offer, if he had agreed to join Vader and destroy the Emperor, then the Luke Wedge knew would have died. 

_Oh, Ben_ Luke pleaded in his mind. If what he felt was anything like the horror of watching Anakin fall to the dark, Luke thought he might be starting to understand why Obi-Wan had called his father dead. 

Luke squeezed his eyes shut. “He wanted to recruit me,” he said softly, and felt more than heard Wedge’s restrained gasp. Luke forced his eyes open. “I can’t—I can’t be like him! Why would he say that! I’m nothing like him! He can’t be—” _my father._

Wedge didn’t say anything for a long minute, but he didn’t pull his hand away. Luke realized Wedge was holding his hand just as tightly, and forced himself to ease his grip just a little. Wedge took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Luke managed to opened his eyes, just enough to peer through, but he couldn’t make himself meet Wedge’s eyes, let alone look at him yet. 

_(Could they see? Could any of them see it in him? That darkness—no wonder the Vader in his vision had Luke’s own face! Oh, Father, what happened to you?)_

“You know,” Wedge began, slowly. “Biggs used to say, ‘Twin suns and everything, Luke was the brightest light on Tatooine.’

Luke couldn’t help but smile even as he felt his face crumple—he’d heard that before; it was Biggs’s favorite line, one that never failed to get Luke to show his affection (not that Luke had needed much persuading)—but Wedge had nailed Bigg’s accent, and had sounded _just like Biggs,_ and Luke would give anything to see Biggs smile at him one more time. 

But...

But Luke no longer felt that ragged and gaping hole of grief at the center of his heart—no, that honor belonged to a new terror in Luke’s life now. Where Biggs had lived in his heart there was simply the dull ache of a new scar, shining and full of fond memories. 

So. Was this is what healing felt like? Trading one bruise for another, one wound for another, until they came too fast to heal, or too deep? 

“He wasn’t wrong,” Wedge said. “You’re the brightest star I know, Skywalker.” 

And it came, spilling out of him before he could stop it. 

Yoda always did call him impulsive. 

“He’s my father, Wedge,” he said, his voice no louder than a breath, and it warred with the sounds of the med bay—the quiet hum of the bacta tank, the buzz of Two-Onebee. Still, Luke knew Wedge heard him. It was easier reading the emotions of non-Force sensitives, and Luke’s shields were shot to shit anyway. He could tell the moment the truth hit, and Luke closed his eyes and rode the wave past terror to calm. “What am I supposed to do with that?” 

But Wedge didn’t answer. He simply sat there, holding Luke’s good hand until Luke slept. When Luke woke Wedge was gone, from Medbay and from the ship, on a mission with Rogue Squadron. 

It wasn’t until later that Luke realized Wedge had left a note, neatly placed on Luke’s bedside table. 

“See you soon, Boss.”

Luke folded it up, and tucked it away for safekeeping.


	5. Chapter 5

Luke was fitted for his new right hand, a reflection of his left, and it would take some time before he would get used to seeing his hands in front of him, like he was simply holding his left hand up to a mirror. It never occurred to him just how different his hands were until they _weren’t _anymore.__

__Two-Onebee pricked his fingers, calibrating the nerves, and Luke flinched. Afterward, holding his wrist, Luke moved his fingers one by one._ _

___He’s more machine now, than man. Twisted and evil._ _ _

__Luke shook the memory of Ben’s voice from his mind and stood to join Leia at the viewport. Here, stationed as they were in the far reaches of the Outer Rim, in what could technically be called Wild Space, the galaxy looked like it could fit in the palm of his new hand._ _

__Leia squeezed his waist, the way he used to squeeze her in the aftermath of Alderaan, and Luke thought of their plan._ _

__They would get Han back. Luke wasn’t going to lose anyone else he loved._ _

__***_ _

__Luke had never expected to return to Tatooine; there was nothing left there for him, after all, and Tatooine was not a place one returned to, once one escaped._ _

__Yet, it seemed fitting to come back now, where it had all begun only four years ago. Luke was a different man now—a Jedi Knight, almost, and very different from the green farmboy he had been. (Not naive, though, no matter what Han had always thought. You don’t live in the Hutts’ backyard and remain naive. But, for some reason, no one ever remembered that Luke grew up a stone’s throw from a Hutt empire on the Tusken Frontier at the border of the Wastes—everyone grew up fast on Tatooine)._ _

__Luke and Leia had caught up with Lando and Chewie in a cantina in Mos Espa, far enough from Jabba’s front door that he was unlikely to catch wind of them before it was too late. Walking down into the cool, dark interior, Leia turned unerringly towards their friends while Luke wove his way through the crowd to the bar._ _

__It may have been cheating to use the Force to ease his path, but Luke was on edge enough without some drunk dug stepping on his toes and wanting to start a fight. Besides, Luke was pretty sure Ben had done the same in Mos Eisley, so Luke didn’t feel _too_ badly about it. _ _

__Bars on Tatooine sold three basic drinks; water, whiskey, and beer. The quality of the water depended on the quality of the barkeeper’s mechanic, the whiskey was never anything fine as Corellian, and the beer was brewed on-planet from the scrub plants that lived on the outskirts of the towns, and was mildly hallucinogenic. Luke had fond memories of the local brew, though it tasted like bantha spit._ _

__This cantina sold a little more: Luke saw a machine for caff and for cocoa, and there were two kinds of whiskey on offer. Luke ordered two of the more expensive whiskey, hoping it wouldn’t taste too much like the charcoal it was distilled in, and flipped the barkeep twice the cho-mar; ordering an expensive drink and leaving a good tip was as good as invisibility if you didn’t want to be seen, and they had a vested interest in the forgetfulness of the barkeep._ _

__The man, possibly part rodian based on the texture of his skin, bit the chit and nodded sharply at Luke, pulling out the bottle—imported from Naboo, which was surprising, but it was close enough that it wasn’t unheard of. A healthy shot of whiskey went into two glasses, neat (Luke wouldn’t trust the ice without trying the water, and Mos Espa never had a reputation for good water to begin with), and Luke brought them back to the table in the corner, where Chewie was mostly hidden in shadow and Lando was leaning over Leia’s hand, smiling charmingly._ _

__Luke rolled his eyes; he knew enough of Lando to know that the charm was automatic and Lando never really turned it off; he also knew that Lando wasn’t serious about his come-on to Leia, not without Han there to protest, at least. Leia knew it, too. Luke placed a glass on the table in front of her, and she smiled up at him gratefully, pulling her hand free._ _

__Luke sat in the free chair between Leia and Land, and sipped his own drink._ _

__For the moment, Luke had dressed like he had as a youth—a light, loosely woven tunic over pale pants and boots with as little skin showing as possible to protect from the suns. He looked like a farmer, though his skin had lost its Tatooine tan and his hair had darkened in his years off-world. Still, he slipped into the posture and the manner with an ease that disconcerted him. To interested eyes, his group looked odd, but not like they shouldn’t be together at all—Luke looked like a farmer with spacer friends, and that was okay by him._ _

__Lando sat back, placing his hand on his chest in mock affront at something Leia had said (that Luke had missed; he had been distracted by a trio of Twi’leks who had started to pay them too much attention. It didn’t take much to distract them, to project ‘don’t notice me’, but Luke had forgotten to listen at the same time). Chewie was huffing with soft laughter, so whatever it was had been a witty and cutting shutdown—a particularly good one, judging by the way Lando’s lips twitched._ _

__“I am hurt, princess,” Lando said._ _

__“If only,” Leia shot back, but there was no real malice behind her words, not anymore. Lando had done far too much to help get Han back, Luke knew, for Leia’s grudge to hold. Soon her remarks would become marks of affection, if they weren’t already. Lando’s grin as he placed a hand on his chest, as if wounded, said he knew it. “What’s the plan?”_ _

__“Jabba’s looking for trustworthy muscle,” Lando said._ _

__“He always is,” Luke said, cutting in. “He like to feed people to things when he’s upset. High turnover.” He drank from his cup and Lando, Leia, and Chewie all looked at him. “What?” Luke said. “I used to live here, remember? When things got bad, Jabba would take it out on whoever got in his way. Knowing what Jabba did was just—what you did to make sure he wasn’t focused on _you._ ” Not that Luke was terribly good at it, but luckily Luke had never actually made it onto Jabba’s radar—not with Ben watching over him. _ _

__“Point,” Lando said, taking a long moment to look away from Luke. “I start there tomorrow. I’ll get the lay of the land and get back to you. The droids still phase two?”_ _

__Leia nodded. “And the Chewie and I are phase three.”_ _

__“Hopefully, we won’t have to get to me,” Luke said. “But I have a bad feeling we will.”_ _

__Lando squinted his eyes at him. “You don’t seem too unhappy about that idea.”_ _

__Luke looked at Lando and knocked back the rest of his drink. It burned, and it would make it harder to go back out in the heat, but it was worth it for the way it made Lando’s eyes shine._ _

__“My grandmother was a slave,” Luke said, speaking quietly; it wasn’t what Lando had expected him to say, or any of them, for that matter. Leia did a better job at hiding her surprise and Chewie looked far too understanding. “She was a slave when she gave birth to my father. On Tatooine the children follow the mother, so my father was a slave.” He looked down at his empty glass._ _

__“My father was freed as a child and brought to the Temple to be a Jedi. My grandmother was sold to my uncle’s father, who freed her and married her, but no slave really trusts freedom given; things given can be taken away. My grandmother died before I was born, captive to the Tuskens, and my father—My father wore different chains.” Luke twisted the glass in his hands and wished he hadn’t finished it._ _

__“My mother was not from Tatooine. My mother was free—so I follow her. I was born free. I am Luke Skywalker, freeborn son of a freedman, but even that would have meant nothing if Jabba wanted.”_ _

__Luke looked up at them again. “Jabba isn’t just _a_ slaver, he is _the_ slaver. You wanna ask me that again?” _ _

__Lando shook his head. “No. No, I think we’re clear.”_ _

__***_ _

__It was eerie being at Ben’s farm, and not just because Luke had _spoken_ with Ben not that long before. He hadn’t seen him since he had left Dagobah, but Luke could feel him throughout the humble farm, and every time he turned, he expected to see that now-familiar blue glow. _ _

__It never came, not when Luke was sure to catch it. There were a few times he thought he might have seen it out of the corner of his eye, but Luke never felt _Ben_ in those moments. _ _

__He found Ben’s journals, though, old-fashioned leather-bound paper journals, obviously hand-crafted, and Luke wondered if Ben had made some himself or if he had bought them in town. All but the most recent were full, and when he opened to chest to see them, he felt a surging in the Force so strong that he had them out and in his hands before he knew what he was doing._ _

__Here might be the answers he was looking for; what had truly happened with his father, his mother, and the end of the war. When he opened a page at random and saw a diagram for a lightsaber, his heart stuttered and then soared—_ _

__He would be able to build a new lightsaber._ _

__Luke placed the journals aside with reverence, vowing to begin reading as soon as he could and making a note to secure them in his X-Wing before they went in to rescue Han._ _

__Lando was preparing to leave in the early hours. They would give him three days before Leia went in with Chewbacca. Then it would be Luke’s turn, and if everything played right, they would have Han back and Jabba would be licking his wounds—or dead—by nightfall._ _

__The Force was being quiet on that outcome, however, and Luke found himself restless. He was too keyed up to meditate and too distracted to read. He found himself outside the farm, climbing up to the roof to watch the suns set—and as the wind blew his hair and the darkness crept forward, he felt that longing once again—the desire to go, to see, to _move_. He wondered if maybe, just maybe, there was more to it than Ben or Yoda thought. _ _

__Staring into the night, Luke thought idly of his uncle’s warnings to not stray outside the compound: night was when the Jawas would steal you. Night was when the Tuskens would attack._ _

__Nothing was going to come to Ben’s farm; Ben’s reputation was far too well-known, and his house was left alone—the Jawas considered the place cursed, and the Tuskens would not venture near where they knew ghosts remained._ _

__The suns had set and the starlight had turned the desert blue when Lando climbed up to join him on the roof. Luke watched him climb, not overly welcoming but not openly hostile, either—just watching, and that was enough for Lando._ _

__Lando was carrying a bottle, something he had grabbed from the Falcon—Ben hadn't kept alcohol here, and Luke was pretty sure he knew why. He held it out, an offering, and Luke took it._ _

__The liqueur was smooth, sweet in a way that hid the burn until the very end, leaving a rough warmth rather than the chemical burn Luke had grown up with. It was nice, and Luke drank again before passing the bottle back._ _

__Lando took it back, his fingers warm and smooth where they brushed against Luke's own, and Luke felt that thrill like he hadn't in a long time (not since the last time he had been on this planet, in fact, and Luke wondered what that could mean. Was there such a thing as coincidence in this galaxy?)._ _

__Luke watched as Lando drank, head back, exposing the long line of his throat. He was very handsome, Luke thought, a man rather than the boy Biggs had been—Luke had been through far too much to be called a boy anymore by any means, if the desert had ever allowed him that in the first place—and maybe it was being back in the sands, or maybe it was the moons that were starting to crest the horizon, but that seemed like a good enough reason._ _

__"You wanna fuck?" Luke asked, and Lando choked on his drink. Luke patted his back helpfully as Lando caught his breath._ _

__"That was direct," Lando commented, and Luke shrugged._ _

__"You're handsome and I'm antsy. You don't wanna, we don't gotta, but I wouldn't mind."_ _

__Lando looked at Luke for a moment longer before a slow grin stretched across his face and his eyes ran the course of Luke’s body. "Well now, I never said I 'don't wanna.'"_ _

__Luke grinned. “Oh, good,” he said. “It’d be awkward if it was just me.” He rolled up to his knees, hands already starting to undo his belt, when he realized Lando hadn’t moved—hadn’t moved and was, in fact, staring at him. Luke paused, raising his eyebrows in question. “What?”_ _

__Lando licked his lower lip and it glistened. Luke stared and almost missed it when Lando said, “Eager, are we?”_ _

__Luke made a face. “Do you know how long it’s been since I even wanted—” He cut himself off, feeling that hot itch under his collar, but Lando shifted, joining Luke on his knees, and took Luke’s hands in his own—Lando’s were warm, strong, and smooth (nothing like his own hands, like Biggs’s hands had been), and Luke looked down at them, surprised._ _

__“All the more reason to do this right,” Lando said, ducking his head to look at Luke. Lando’s teeth flashed and Luke couldn’t turn away. He nodded._ _

__“All right,” Luke said, and Lando grinned, sideways wide (like Han, so sure)—and then one of those large, warm hands slid up Luke’s arms, cupping around his neck and running his thumb along Luke’s jaw. Luke’s eyes fluttered shut, it had been years since he had been touched with this much gentleness and _intent_ and—_ _

__He liked Lando; he was funny and handsome, and had never asked for more than Luke could give. Even now, he wasn’t asking too much (even though it felt like so much, too much, this was huge, and yet not so big after all)._ _

__Lando was generous, surprisingly so sometimes, at odds with his reputation as a rogue and a con man. He was generous now when he leaned in and kissed Luke softly._ _

__Time seemed to slow, the Force around them singing like resounding crystals, tinkling in the distance, and Luke thought “oh,” softly, softly, and surrendered himself into the kiss, swaying forward when Lando pulled back—_ _

__But Lando simply chuckled gently into the kiss, shifting forward to pull Luke to him, pressing them together chest to hip to thigh. Luke could feel Lando growing hard against him, and Luke felt dizzy with it; he had _missed_ this, the pleasure, yeah, but the thrill of making someone else feel good with his body. _ _

__Luke clutched at Lando a bit more frantically than he would have liked, his need overwhelming and sudden, and the world around them shook. Lando broke the kiss, pressing his mouth to the side of Luke’s face. “Shh,” he soothed. “Shh, it’s alright. I’m not going anywhere.”_ _

__Shuddering, Luke breathed, pushing that trembling down and away. “Sorry,” he said, his voice thick, but Lando squeezed him tight._ _

__“Sorry nothing. Shit gets heavy sometimes, and from what I’ve seen, you’ve got it heavier than most.”_ _

__Luke huffed a small laugh, surprised. “That’s one way to put it,” he said. “But I can’t—I can’t let it overwhelm me like that. I’m a Jedi.”_ _

__Lando hummed. “And that doesn’t make you human?” he asked, and Luke snorted, because honestly, he’d wondered the same thing. He took a breath and practiced what Ben had shown him so long ago in the Falcon’s hold, gathering his anxiety and his frustration together and releasing it to the Force. It didn’t remove all of it, and honestly, Luke had lived with a bitter lump deep in his chest for long enough that he doubted he’d ever be rid of it fully. But Luke felt more like he had before Bespin, before Dagobah and Yoda and Ben, and something that he hadn’t realized was off slotted back into place._ _

__“Because, ah,” Lando pressed forward, his thigh firm and _wonderful_ against's Luke’s cock, and Luke gasped. “You feel pretty human to me.” _ _

__“I’ll show you human,” Luke growled, not even knowing what he meant by it. Yet when Luke pushed forward, pulling Lando off balance as they fell back to the roof together, cushioned by the Force, Lando laughed, delighted, as he looked up at Luke. Luke felt something like joy bubbling up in his chest, and as he grinned down at Lando, he was gratified to see Lando looking a little bit dazed by it before he fisted a hand in Luke’s shirt and pulled them together again in a deep kiss._ _

__This time when Luke pulled back and up onto his knees and his hands reached for his belt, Lando’s hands went to his own (and Luke felt a spike of heat flash through him when he saw that those smooth hands shake just a little)._ _

__Luke hesitated just for a moment, belt undone, and thought, _all the more reason to do this right,_ and pulled his shirt up over his head, letting it fall to the roof next to him. He shook his ruffled hair back into place and saw Lando staring. Luke looked down at himself, belt undone and pants open to hint at the swelling of his cock, his bare chest far more defined that it had ever been before in his life—wielding a lightsaber was not easy, and his six months on Dagobah had been very physical. He smiled slowly, putting his hands on his hips, looking up at Lando through his eyelashes. _ _

__Lando’s head twisted as he grinned. “Jedi’s a good look on you,” Lando said, and Luke snorted, dropping his hands from his waist and reaching out to urge Lando to pull off his own shirt._ _

__“I’m glad you like it,” Luke said dryly, running his hands up Lando’s stomach and chest, feeling warm skin and rough hair. He let his fingers curl to scratch, watching as Lando arched into it. Once Lando was free of the cloth, Luke leaned in, biting gently his collarbone and sucking gently on the skin when Lando hissed._ _

__Luke heard that hiss like some sort of signal, his blood suddenly hot and his cock aching, and he shoved his pants down further, tangling them around his thighs as he tried to press himself closer to Lando, desperate for contact._ _

__Lando, thankfully, must have understood the need, the urgency, because he grabbed Luke’s hips, pulling him closer. He pulled them together, mouths and chests and hips, and Luke gasped into Lando’s mouth when their cocks aligned with heat and friction that made stars pop behind his eyes._ _

__It was all too much, too soon, and Luke bit out a strained “Lando!,” a warning, but Lando just hummed against his mouth and gripped Luke tighter, and Luke came, spilling between them, his head falling back as his eyes filled with stars._ _

__It took seconds that felt like minutes and hours and days, and Luke fell back into his body with a jolt, sudden shame heating his face as he felt the breeze cooling the sweat and come between them. Lando was still hard, hell, _Luke_ was still hard, though everything had lost that razor’s edge of urgency. _ _

__“I did say it’d been a while,” Luke muttered, feeling the need to apologize, to explain, but Lando didn’t laugh, didn’t tease. He simply hummed and wrapped his hand around their cocks, stroking them together, his movements slick with Luke’s release._ _

__Luke gasped, his eyes fluttering, but he forced himself to open his eyes, to look at Lando._ _

__He had never seen that expression on Lando’s face before, couldn’t read the emotion behind those dark eyes, but it make Luke’s breath catch anyway, and then Luke saw the tenderness and understanding, the care that caught him here just as readily as Lando had caught him in the air, plucking him from the sky and anchoring him in safety._ _

__Luke reached out, cupping Lando’s face, drawing him in to kiss him softly, gently, trying to thank him in a way he hadn’t yet been able. Lando seemed to get it and kissed back just as softly—until a deft twist of his fingers had Luke gasping again, hips moving—and Lando moved with him, finding their rhythm, their point and counterpoint as they ached and strained together._ _

__Lando ran his hand down Luke’s back, gripping the flesh of his ass, and Luke lifted his leg, wrapping it around Lando’s and changing the angle, deepening the thrust, and Luke wished he hadn’t gone so long, that one of them had thought to bring out the lubricant, because Luke would very much like to be fucked by this man, would like to be pinned in place and fucked deep, or lifted up to bounce and writhe and chase his pleasure, to lose himself in his body until all that mattered was the way they moved—_ _

__“Next time, I want you to fuck me,” Luke said, gasping a bit between moans, and Lando came with a groan. His cock twitched against Luke’s as it spilled over them, and Luke twitched his hips, impatient, so close to his own completion, and Lando tightened his hand for Luke to thrust, and Luke came again—a white warmth filling him as he shuddered._ _

__The desert air was cool against his back, his front hot where it pressed to Lando. A single point of warmth, Lando’s hand spread gentle lines down Luke’s spine as he slowly ran his hand along Luke’s back._ _

__Lando didn’t say anything about Luke’s desire—not a confirmation that they would do this again, but not a denial, either. Luke knew why—their lives were too uncertain for those kinds of plans. Still, Luke hoped the opportunity would present itself. He liked Lando, and the sex between them could only get better._ _

__They lay in silence, watching the stars as their bodies cooled._ _

__“You know,” Luke said at last, breaking the silence. “I should have had you pegged for a romantic.” He looked at Lando sideways, his lips twitching to hide his smile, and Lando snorted, catching the humor._ _

__“Yeah, well. I gotta admit, I never expected to hear a Jedi say ‘fuck,’ let alone be so enthusiastic about it.”_ _

__Luke hummed, stretching his arms up above his head. He watched from slitted eyes as Lando’s gaze ran the length of his body. He wasn’t getting fucked tonight, but perhaps he could convince Lando that their night wasn’t yet over._ _

__“I think I’m a new kind of Jedi,” Luke said._ _


	6. Chapter 6

Luke returned to Dagobah, having traded his hand for knowledge he did not want and blood for wisdom he sorely needed, too late to resume his training. Yoda was welcoming, as welcoming as he could be considering the way he creaked and groaned when he moved. He seemed at peace, his Force presence stretched out over and around them in a way it hadn’t been before, and Luke wondered if it was a natural part of dying, or if Yoda was simply stretching muscles he hadn’t used in twenty years during the last hours of his life. 

Luke looked away when Yoda looked at him as if he heard Luke’s question and was considering the answer. 

“Difficult to see, yes, but not impossible,” Yoda said softly, in that same deep voice that had thrown Luke so completely upon their first meeting. “All beings, when know themselves they do, know when the end is near.” 

Luke felt his face twist and Yoda hummed. “That face you make. Look I so old to young eyes?” 

Luke denied it, quick and instinctual and not entirely dishonest. Luke had no idea what Yoda would have looked like as a youngling, had no frame of reference save that Yoda seemed less physically there than he had when Luke had left nearly two years before. Learning that Yoda was over nine hundred years old was, then, both a surprise and not. It simply another wonderous thing that Yoda had had done, and Luke was finished doubting the miraculous. 

Still, Luke protested. He had returned to keep his promise, and it seemed that yet again his master would die on him. Why had Ben waited? Why had Ben given him to Uncle Owen in the first place, why not keep him near and raise him as a Jedi? There was so much Luke still had yet to learn, and when Yoda died, he would take all of that with him. 

Hearing that he had no training left made his heart pound, even as something said that it wasn’t right—it couldn’t be true, could it? 

He meant to ask it as a question. 

“Then I am a Jedi.”

And Yoda laughed, the old troll, even as it made him cough and struggle for breath. Luke couldn’t be cross with him, not when his heart was heavy with the inevitability of loss. Luke thought he’d be used to this now, to the way people entered his life only to exit forever, leaving Luke holding the pieces, unsure if any of them went together or how they’d fit together if they did. 

All Jedi must face trials, Luke knew, before they called themselves Knights. Ben had explained as much back before everything in those days aboard the Falcon. Luke had failed his first test, he knew, back in the cave under the tree, and again when he had failed to raise his X-wing from the swamp. (Lessons, they had both been. Luke no longer looked with his eyes when lifting with the Force, and he better knew the bitter anger that lingered deep inside him, that had always been inside of him). 

But the past year—losing Han at Cloud City, losing his hand—the rescue that had toppled Jabba from his throne (there were reports of uprisings, slaves taking power back from the void left behind, and Luke couldn’t help but feel glad of it, satisfied in a way that curled darkly in his belly)—how could the last year be anything but a trial?

(Luke knew, though, what was missing—the only failure his mind still shied away from). 

“Vader,” Yoda said, and Luke closed his eyes, something like fate settling around his shoulders. 

(And why wouldn’t it be? Hadn’t Ben talked about little else from the very beginning? Luke was being trained to defeat Vader, to be the weapon of the last Jedi against the overpowering threat of the dark. 

Luke was freeborn; he knew enough to recognize when his life was no longer his own). 

He opened his mouth to ask—who knew what he _meant_ to ask, what came out was:

“Is Darth Vader my father?” 

The question hung in the air between them, and Luke could almost feel the Force coalesce between them as if bearing witness to a watershed. The air was _thick_ with it and Yoda—

Yoda turned away, muttering about rest and sleep, and Luke was suddenly just so damned _tired_. His own voice, when he spoke, was as old as he ever heard it. 

“Yoda, I must know.” 

The silence between them grew heavy, and Luke felt cocooned in the sounds of his own body, his breathing and his heartbeat, even as he felt the electric current of possibility zing along his veins. 

When Yoda spoke, his voice was low with the pain of old wounds—as if the cost of the truth was greater than the little reserve Yoda had left. 

“Your father he is.” 

It wasn’t unexpected, only confirming what Luke already knew and had already started to accept—yet Luke still felt the bottom drop out of his universe, and for a moment everything was unmoored, like someone had cut the gravity. 

“Told you, did he?” Yoda asked, and Luke nodded, though Yoda was still turned away.

“Yes,” Luke said, and somehow the simplicity of his answer was all the more damning. 

“Unexpected this is, and unfortunate...” 

Luke looked up sharply. “Unfortunate that I know the truth?” 

“No,” Yoda said, the word long and groaning as he turned over in his bed. “Unfortunate that you rushed to face him...that incomplete was your training. Not ready for the burden were you.” Yoda reached out, his claws just brushing the fabric of Luke’s sleeve, and Luke felt his ire fade like mist in the sunlight. Such a simple gesture, but Luke thought he knew, now, what it meant. 

“Well, I’m sorry,” Luke muttered, winced at just how clunky language could be. He was sorry, but it was so much more than that. 

When had Yoda last reached out to anyone? Had they reached back? Had he reached out to Luke, only to reach Luke’s back as he walked away, again and again? Luke’s heart ached. 

“Remember,” Yoda said, still trying, desperately trying, but even Luke could feel his life start to dim, his light dissipating like the morning fog. “A Jedi’s strength flows from the Force. But beware.” His voice dropped, echoing with the power that Luke had always known was in him, but had so rarely seen so evident. Could Yoda even stop showing his power now? “Anger, fear, aggression. The Dark Side are they. Once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny.” He waved his claws, urging Luke in closer, and Luke crept as close as he dared, his limbs like lead. The Force was swirling around Yoda, the most peaceful malestrom Luke had ever seen, and it hurt and soothed him with the same breath. 

“Luke...” Yoda tried, but his breath was failing, as if his sudden burst of strength had taken the last of his reserves. “Luke...Do not...” Yoda gasped. “Do not underestimate the powers of the Emperor, or suffer your father's fate, you will. Luke, when gone am I,” Yoda broke off, coughing, and Luke reached out without thinking, seeking to soothe, “the last of the Jedi will you be. Luke,” Yoda grabbed Luke’s hand in his claw. “The Force runs strong in your family. Pass on what you have learned, Luke...” Yoda breathed in once more, the air rattling through his lungs, and Luke _knew_ it would be Yoda’s last. 

“There is...another...Sky...Sky...walker.” 

And then, Yoda died. 

Luke watched as his body faded from view, becoming one with the Force once more. He sat there in what now used to be Yoda’s home until the fire died out. 

 

***

Luke’s head felt cloudy, all the way back to his ship, his motions on autopilot until Artoo’s plaintive beeping penetrated. 

“I can't do it, Artoo,” Luke said, quietly. “I can't go on alone.”

“Yoda will always be with you,” Ben said, his voice echoing faintly in Luke’s head the way ghostly voices always did, and Luke felt a simmer of...what? Not rage, not anymore. Luke felt as if all his hotter emotions had burned away with Yoda’s hearth, leaving only the smoke and ashes. 

When Luke looked up, Ben was walking towards him, stepping over roots as if he actually had to—then again, he might. Luke wasn’t exactly sure of the rules governing ghosts. He was pretty sure, however, that even ghosts knew the difference between truth and lies. 

“Obi-Wan!” Luke said. “Why didn't you tell me?”

Ben hesitated slightly. It looked almost as if he was afraid of Luke, of Luke’s anger. 

But the anger still wouldn’t come. 

“You told me Vader betrayed and murdered my father.”

Ben sighed. “You father was seduced by the dark side of the Force. He ceased to be   
Anakin Skywalker and became Darth Vader. When that happened, the good man who was your   
father was destroyed. So what I have told you was true... from a certain point of view.” 

Unbelieveable. “A certain point of view!” Luke looked away.

“Luke,” Ben said, not quite pleading, not yet, but underneath the calm tones of the teacher, Luke could hear the imploration. “You're going to find that many of the truths we cling to depend   
greatly on our own point of view.”

Luke clenched his jaw, not quite ready to speak. He still didn’t feel angry, not truly, but his body certainly felt it—his jaw clenched and his hands were fists at his sides. Luke knew about _subjective truths_. Everyone on Tatooine knew about subjective truths, where all slaves were subservient until they were in their own quarters, where all slaves were free in their own minds. 

What good were subjective truths when the suns were constant, a present death that remained no matter how one looked? Ben had lived there. Why didn’t he know?

“I don't blame you for being angry,” Ben said, and Luke turned his head back, though he wasn’t quite ready to raise his eyes. “If I was wrong in what I did, it certainly wouldn't have been for the first time.” Luke looked up, but Ben was staring into the past. “So much of my life has been spent making the wrong decisions for the right reasons.” Ben closed his eyes and the shadows hid them from Luke. “What happened; it was—it was my fault.” Ben paused, running a hand over his face. 

“I’m sorry, I thought I was over this—” 

“Tell me,” Luke said. Ben paused, looking at Luke. Luke still couldn’t see his eyes. “You owe me the truth, the real truth.” 

Ben nodded, and took a deep breath, as if to steady nerves. Luke wondered if Ben had ever told the whole story to anyone. “My master and I were assigned to assist the Naboo in brokering a peace with the Trade Federation. It quickly became clear that peace was not an option, and we fled with the Queen and her entourage.” Ben rubbed a hand over his beard. “The ship was damaged, and so we landed on Tatooine.” He shook his head. “For such a dusty backwater, that planet more than any other may have shaped the destiny of the galaxy.” 

“I’ve noticed,” Luke said, dry, and Ben quirked his lips, his beard twitching. “Your father was already a great pilot, despite being only nine years old and in slavery. He won the Boonta Eve race—something he would brag about for years after.” 

“With good reason!” Luke said. “Uncle never let me—well.” 

Ben reached out a hand to Luke’s shoulder. “My master was amazed by how strongly the Force was with him, and...contrived to bring him back with us.” Ben looked away. “They were...waylaid on the way back from the city. It was our first encounter with the Sith threat. Darth Maul.” Obi-Wan’s face twisted and he looked for a moment like he would spit before his features smoothed once more. “We escaped, however, and made it to Coruscant—Imperial Center, now. The Queen begged for aid, but none would be given. My master petitioned the council to train your father, but he was deemed too old.” 

Luke started. “But I was eighteen when I started my...” Luke trailed off. “That’s why Yoda said I was too old, isn’t it? Because my father was trained late and fell.” He looked away. “How desperate you must have felt to train me anyway.” 

“No!” Ben snapped, and Luke startled, seeing General Obi-Wan Kenobi for the first time in old master’s soft, familiar face. “You are not a burden, or a last-ditch effort, or—”

“A weapon?” Luke interrupted, and Obi-Wan stopped, his eyes bright. “I remember what you told me of the Jedi, Ben. I should have been training for _years_ to reach my knighthood. Sure, I can meditate, and I can listen to the Force—I can use a lightsaber against a blaster or another weapon...but I know so little about what it _really_ means to be a Jedi—to defend peace rather than to fight war.”

Ben—oh, Ben looked _shattered_. “You know more, Luke, than many of the Jedi that I trained with at the Temple. We taught peace first, of course, but it takes a life of violence to _understand_ peace. Knowing that there is something more...you understand it more than most.” 

Luke looked away. “How did my father become a Jedi?” he asked instead. 

“I trained him,” Ben said, droll. “My master insisted that Anakin would be trained, Council approval or no—he’d do it himself if he had to.” Ben’s mouth twisted. “But no master could have more than one padawan at a time, so I was declared ready for my trials.” 

“Were you?” Luke asked. 

Ben shrugged. “Ready or not, it didn’t matter. We returned to Naboo and my Master was killed by that same Sith. I...” Ben took a shuddering breath. “I killed the Sith, and it was counted as my trials—much to the Council’s dismay, as I took up Qui-Gon’s cause and advocated for your father.” His smile grew wry. “I was woefully unprepared for raising a padawan, especially one as unique as your father, but we were good for each other, I think. It was good for me to have someone to focus on, and Anakin needed an advocate. Those years were some of the best of my life.” His smile faded. “Of course, unseen to all of us, Palpatine had gotten his hooks into your father from the first. While he was growing as a Jedi, Palpatine was there, slipping beneath his shields, planting seeds that would fester and rot.” 

Ben shook himself. “We met your mother again right before the Clone Wars began. Their youthful infatuation bloomed, and, as I later learned, they married in secret just after the opening skirmish.” Ben looked down at Luke’s hand. “Your father was recovering from losing his own right hand, cut from him by Count Dooku—or Darth Tyranus, though he rarely used that name.” 

“My mother,” Luke said.

“Padme Naberrie, her name was, hough her time as queen gave her the appellation Padme Amidala. She was the senator from Naboo during the wars.” 

“The queen!?” Luke startled. “My mother was—wait. Senator Amidala? Leia’s idol?” The fanmags were right? 

“The same,” Ben said. “Your father loved her so much it shone from him like a beacon. It we weren’t at war, it would have gotten him expelled from the order. It was forbidden for the Jedi to marry, to form those attachments. Her love carried him through many dark times, but in the end...”

“It wasn’t enough?” Luke asked, quietly. 

“It doomed them both,” Ben said, voice barely a whisper. “Your father was plagued by visions twice in his life. The first of his mother, of her death at the hands of the Tuskens. The second of Padme, dying in great pain. Because he did not act swiftly enough for the former, he lost himself trying to prevent the latter. Your father fell to Palpatine’s twisted promise of power—but the Dark Side holds no power to heal, and even the best intentions are lost in the maelstrom.” Ben shook his head. “I thought I had taught him, had shown him enough. I was wrong and my pride, my _damnable_ pride, had terrible consequences for the galaxy.” 

Luke looked away, thinking at last, of Vader’s terrible revelation—his _father_ —and his subsequent demand. Join him and rule as—

_Father and son._

Luke’s memories of his escape were hazy, but there was one constant: _son._ At the time, Luke had thought it a taunt, a dreadful reminder of the truth, but now...now he wasn’t so sure. 

“There's still good in him,” Luke said, feeling the tender tendril of hope blossoming in the Force. Luke couldn’t hear the resonance of truth, the chaos in the Force was far too great, but he was sure of it all the same. 

But Ben was shaking his head. “I also thought he could be turned back to the good side. I followed him, along with Padme, to Mustafar. I thought I could bring him back. I thought _she_ could bring him back. It couldn't be done.” He signed. “He is more machine now than man. Twisted and evil.” 

Luke curled his right hand into a fist, feeling the electric hum of the servos. “I can't do it, Ben.” 

Ben peered at him, face unreadable. “You cannot escape your destiny.” 

Luke looked at Ben, feeling much as he had years ago, sun baked and aching at Ben’s farm on Tatooine. He could feel the sand itching in his hair, the powder-dirt feel that gathered in the cracks and crevices in his face, the scoured-smooth feeling of his skin. He ached deep in his gut as he was asked to take that leap. 

Ben’s eyes softened. Was this how Ben was as a Jedi Master? Was this the Obi-Wan Anakin had known? A wise, inscrutable man, burdened by his own guilt? Or had the desert stripped him of his past, too? Or, perhaps he had lost all _but_ his past. 

And Vader—his father! Luke thought of all he knew, every scrap that he had hoarded to his chest, and a picture began to form. 

Anakin had been born a slave, as his mother had been a slave. He had never known freedom until nine, when he had been freed (even at nine, his father would have recognized the strings attached to his freedom)—only to become beholden to the Jedi. (Would the Jedi have known how to talk to the young boy his father had been? Luke had met slaves like him; they would not have spoken to him in the language of the quarters, to show they were family and trustworthy. They wouldn’t have spoken to him in Huttese, the language of the Masters, unless some good-intentioned Jedi somewhere suggested it. (Obi-Wan, perhaps. Luke had seen Ben’ss skill with languages when he had been zapped by a stray bolt on the Falcon. Mando’a, Huttese, and High Coruscant was an interesting mix. It wasn’t the first time Luke had realized that there was more to Ben than he had first thought, but it was his favorite). 

No, they would have spoken to Anakin in Basic—in _Core Accented Basic_ , sounding like the high rollers that would come to spend their money on the races and on a pretty thing, willing (or not) for the night. Luke wondered if it took Anakin as long as it had taken Luke to realize that, for most people, Basic wasn’t filled with hidden meanings and double-speak. Luke doubted that the Jedi had ever realized that what they had said was not necessarily what Anakin had learned. 

Luke wondered if he had called Ben “Master.” Had it rankled? Had he found different ways of saying it, to change the infection and therefore the meaning? Was Obi-Wan “Mas- _ter_ ” with the Hutts were “ _Mas_ -ters”?

Vader called the Emperor Master. Did Vader realize? (He must). Did the Emperor? (He _must_ ). 

What would Vader think when he realized that Luke _knew_ the way to speak?

What would Anakin do?

Luke shook his head. “I can't kill my own father.”

Ben sighed, leaning back, but there was something not yet defeated in him. Something, perhaps, hopeful. “Then the Emperor has already won. You were our only hope.”

Luke was already shaking his head. “Yoda spoke of another.”

Ben looked at Luke from the corner of his eye, much as he had right before he gave Luke Anakin’s lightsaber and changed _everything_. 

“The other he spoke of is your twin sister.”

Luke frowned, the Force tense around him like it was holding its breath—a child on Lifeday morning, waiting for presents. “But I have no sister.”

Ben stroked his beard. “You mother, when we confronted Vader, was pregnant—pregnant with twins, though she never told your father. I’m not sure why she kept it from him, but she did all the same—from him, and from me.” Ben looked at him. “I was there when you were born mere seconds after your sister. To protect you both from the Emperor, you were hidden—Padme was reported dead, and her unborn child with her. The Emperor knew, as I did, if Anakin were to have any offspring, they would be a threat to him. That is the reason why your sister remains safely anonymous.”

Not anonymous, not now what he knew. The pieces were falling into place like a set of bone dominos, and the truth burst from Luke before he could stop it. (He didn’t want to stop it! His sister was—)

“Leia! Leia's my sister.”

“Your insight serves you well,” Ben said, mildly. “Bail Organa was a close friend of your mother’s, and when he and his wife could not conceive, they adopted your sister as their own—a ‘war orphan.’ There were so many, the wars had cost us so many lives, that no one questioned the adoption—or her lack of paperwork.” Ben turned serious once more. “Bury your feelings deep down, Luke. They do you credit, but they could be made to serve the Emperor.” 

Luke met Ben’s gaze. “I will not fall as my Father did,” he said, and Ben—Ben had to look away. 

Luke looked up at the clouds that covered the stars. Leia, whom he had believed was his sister in all but blood was, in truth, his sister _in_ blood—his brave, compassionate, headstrong, passionate, _angry_ —

“You can't let her get involved now, Ben,” Luke said. “Vader will destroy her—if she doesn’t destroy him first for what he has done. You know her temper.” 

Ben nodded, agreeing. “For all that she looks like your mother, she is Anakin’s daughter—angry at the universe for not being better than it is. She hasn't been trained in the ways of the Jedi the way you have, Luke... but the Force is strong with her. She’s used it before, drawing upon it to finish that gangster, Jabba. It is why it has to be _you_ , Luke. If she faces Vader...” Ben trailed off. 

“She may take out half the Galaxy with her,” Luke said, dry. 

Oh, what a mess. Vader, his father—his _mission_ apparently, his _trials,_. Leia, his sister. That might be the best thing to come of all this; Luke had _family_ again, blood family. Not just his friends, Han and Chewie. The Rogues. Wedge.

Wedge.

“You loved him, didn’t you?” Luke asked, remembering the strange hitch in Ben’s voice so long ago. “Your master? Qui-Gon.” 

“Yes, with all that I am,” Obi-Wan said, his tone filled with grief, but not flinching, not hesitating. “And your father, too.” 

Luke nodded, looking out over the darkened swamp. “There _is_ good in him, still. I can reach him, I’m sure of it.” He was _family_. Blood called to blood in the sands. 

Obi-Wan didn’t respond, but he didn’t fade either. Luke nodded after a moment. 

“If I survive, and I pass on what I have learned, the rules against Attachment will not pass down from me.” 

The silence grew, but eventually Obi-Wan nodded. 

“You must do what you feel is right, of course,” he said, but his eyes were proud.


	7. Chapter 7

Back aboard Home One, Luke was greeted by Threepio—which in itself wasn’t strange; Threepio always came to welcome Artoo back when he could, but he wasn't usually alone. Leia came when she could make it, or Han, and after Han’s long carbon freeze, Luke was very surprised to not see him on the Falcon with Chewie, tinkering. 

Yet, neither Leia nor Han were there, and, though Luke could see his squad’s X-wings in the hangar, there were no Rogues about, either. 

“Master Luke, it is so good to see you, sir,” Threepio called up. Luke had largely given up on trying to get Threepio to stop calling him master; it still made Luke itch, but his constant insistence was causing far too much stress on Threepio’s processors. It was against _protocol_ , after all. 

Next chance he got, Luke was going to offer to update that bit of code, if Threepio wanted. 

“Hey, Threepio,” Luke greeted instead, hopping over the side of the cockpit and sliding down the ladder. Artoo was already attached to the lift, and the techs had begun their overhaul swarming. “Where is it?” 

“Where is what, sir?” Threepio asked, guileless. 

“The briefing,” Luke said. “Unless everyone is out playing squashball.” 

“Oh,” Threepio seemed surprised. “No, indeed, sir. They’re in meeting hall D.” 

“Thanks, Threepio,” Luke called, placing a hand on Threepio’s shoulder briefly as he passed, heading toward the locker rooms. 

It didn’t take long to change out of his flight-suit and back into his blacks. He hooked his lightsaber to his belt and turned to leave, pausing as he caught sight of himself in the mirror. 

There should have been some marker, some physical change to mirror the way his worldview had cracked and shattered. He was scarred now in ways that he wasn’t before—burns on his body and claw marks on his face. He’d traded a desert tan for a spacer’s tan, and he wore his hair shorter now. Military length. Pilot length. 

He looked tired, pale and washed out; the only bright spot was the lightsaber at his hip—the only indication of his status as a Jedi. If it could be called status. He pulled it from his waist, turning it in his hands. 

Luke should have been grounded permanently after his last trip to Dagobah; he was effectively AWOL, but one mention of the word “Jedi” and the path before him cleared. It was a staggering amount of power, and one that was far too tempting—all because of the weapon at his hip, outlawed for over twenty years as a symbol of treason. 

Luke knew the power of symbols and stories and truth. 

The lightsaber was returned to his belt. 

***

_”I’m with you, too.”_

***

_”Luke? What’s wrong?”_

_”Ask me again sometime.”_

***

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather fly with us?” 

Luke stopped, halfway to the stolen shuttle that would carry the Endor strike team past the fleet in orbit, and turned to face Wedge. 

Wedge was dressed in his “come find me” flightsuit, his helmet under one arm, and though his words were mild, there was a element of pleading truth to them. Luke wanted to—oh, how Luke wanted to— fly with Wedge once more against impossible odds, to fight with the Rogues who had been his companions for so long—but the Force was pulling him away, toward Endor and Vader and the _end_ of this story, and Luke had to follow. 

“And fly _under_ you?” Luke said instead, forcing a laugh, a lopsided grin. “Not a chance.” 

Wedge started briefly, as if he hadn’t realized that Luke would be answering to Wedge. “Boss-”

“Not anymore,” Luke interrupted, softly. “I’m resigning my commission, effective immediately after this battle. This is my test, Wedge, my trials. If I pass, I’ll be a Jedi Knight, and I won’t be able to hold military rank.” Wedge frowned and Luke hastened to continue. “The Jedi were peacekeepers first, Wedge. I’d like to go back to that. We _need_ to go back to that, in truth.” 

Swallowing hard, Luke gave Wedge a moment to process what he had said. “Fly straight, Rogue Leader,” Luke said. “I’ll see you on the other side.” 

Wedge’s answer was immediate. “Not if I see you first...Ex-Boss.” 

Luke huffed a laugh, tension broken just enough, and he felt the Force sparkle around them, as if it, too, was laughing. Wedge always could do that to him, bring Luke back from his darkest moods bysharing his life, his light, his warmth. He was easy to be around, never made Luke feel like he wasn’t wanted, and wasn’t afraid to tease the Jedi, not even when the others started to pull away, confused reverence lurking in their eyes. Though it all, it was _Wedge_ who—

_Oh._

“Come here,” Luke said, and grabbed Wedge by the front of his flight-suit, pulling him and kissing him squarely on the mouth. Wedge’s wordless surprise was muffled against Luke’s lips, and then Luke heard the clatter as Wedge dropped his helmet to the ground. Then Wedge’s hands were on Luke’s face, tilting him, Wedge’s mouth opening under his own, and Luke’s world stilled. 

Seconds passed in minutes and hours.

Luke pulled away, breathless. “For luck,” he whispered.

“You too,” Wedge said, voice gone hoarse. Luke could hear Ben in his mind, _In my experience, there’s no such thing as luck._

Luke very carefully ignored him, even as he pulled away. Luke had to get to the shuttle. Wedge had to get to his fighter. Turning away was one of the hardest things Luke had ever done, and he walked to the shuttle with a heavy tread. 

The strike team was already at the shuttle, already dressed in their forest gear, loading boxes and checking gear. Luke himself was already dressed to land, wearing a forest-print cover over his blacks, belted at the waist with his blaster easily accessible at his hip. His lightsaber he wore hidden underneath. The cover had a cowled hood, and he thought about raising it, hiding his face to pass by without comment, to retreat to an empty part of this ship and gather himself, but he was noticed before he could. 

One of the rebels, an older man with a white beard whom Luke had seen around but never formally met, put down his box, grabbing a helmet and walking over. 

“So you’re him, huh? The Jedi?” 

Luke looked the man over; they were of a height, though the man may have been taller than him when he was younger. There was no outward hostility, and the Force seemed calm enough—enough that Luke was able to pull out a smile. “Depends on who's asking,” he said. 

The man smirked at that, approval lighting in his eyes, and he held out a hand. “Rex,” he said, and when Luke reached back, Rex surprised him by gripping his forearm instead of his hand. 

“Luke,” he said. 

“I know,” Rex said. “Skywalker—that’s a name that makes people sit up and pay attention.” 

Luke stiffened, suddenly unsure where this was going. 

“You’re really his kid, aren’t you?” Rex asked, longing and hope warring in his voice. Luke could only nod. 

“You knew him?” Luke asked. 

Rex nodded, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “I was his captain in the wars. Fought beside him for years. He was...brilliant. And a pain in the ass.” 

It surprised Luke into a laugh. “I’ve heard the same. I wish I’d known—” Luke cut himself off, looking away. When he looked back, Rex was staring at him, warily. 

“You know, don’t you.” Rex said. It wasn’t really a question. “What happened to him.” 

Luke looked at him, surprised. “ _You_ know?” 

“I know a lot of things,” Rex said. “And people. We survive this, there’s a few people I think you should meet. People who knew him, how things were before.” 

“I’d like that,” Luke said, and Rex snapped to attention, his heels clicking. It was odd, seeing it on a man so old—well, no. He would be a clone, wouldn’t he? Luke had known a few who had passed through Anchorhead, all of them old before their time. 

Before Luke could say anything, Rex eased from position and thrust the helmet at Luke. It hit Luke in the stomach, and Luke grabbed it, reflexively, with a soft “oof.” 

“If you’re anything like your father, you’re a magnet for trouble. Wear that. I’m far too old to be running after Jedi too dumb to wear their karkin’ armor.” 

Meekly, Luke put the helmet on his head, and Rex nodded his sharp approval. 

***

_”I’m endangering the mission. I shouldn’t have come.”_

***

_”Do you remember your mother? Your real mother?”_

***

Luke really should stop trying to sneak around Leia. She always knows where he was, the same way Luke could navigate the stars by her presence, like binary stars. Twin suns. 

She wass looking at him now with undisguised worry, the way she had in the aftermath of his last confrontation with Vader when he was delirious with the pain and shock of losing his hand. There was no way around this. 

 

“Luke, tell me,” Leia said, on the verge of pleading, but never quite there. “What's troubling you?”

_So much._

“Vader is here,” he said. “Now, on this moon.” 

Leia stepped back. “How do you know?” A demand. Already Luke could see the general begin to take over, calculating contingencies and plans. A senator she had been, when they had met, but a general is what she was. 

“I felt his presence,” Luke said, keeping his voice even and low as if trying to calm a spooked bantha. Leia would not appreciate the comparison, he knew, but it was apt all the same. “He's come for me. He can feel when I'm near.” _The way you knew when I needed you. The way I know when you need me._

 

“That's why I have to go.” Luke saw the protest rising in Leia and spoke quickly to head her off. “As long as I stay, I'm endangering the group and our mission here.” Her jaw clicked shut, her mouth unhappy, and Luke knew he was close to winning—but the hardest part was yet to come. He took a deep breath, and lept. 

“I have to face him.”

Leia shook her head immediately in denial. “Why?” A clarification. A demand for an explanation from a superior officer. A request from a friend-- a sister. 

Luke used to dream of a sister, a dark-eyed girl with wild hair and a quick grin, who would run through the landscapes of his mind, taking him to places he had never seen: gardens and waterfalls and mountains. She had been fascinated by the desert plants, by the way the suns reflected off sands as they set, by the dances that Luke had danced under the moonlight with the other farmers at celebrations. With Biggs. 

Luke knew, now, why the princess had seemed so familiar. He wondered if Leia had dreams of the tow-headed idiot he had been: if she remembered splashing him with water, if she remembered sliding down the dunes with him. 

Stepping closer, gentle and calm, Luke let out a breath, sending his secret with it. 

“He's my father.”

“Your—” Leia cut herself off, eyes widening. When she spoke again, her voice was softer, bewildered but trusting. Believing. “Father?”

Luke nodded. “There's more.” He sighed. “This is not how I wished to tell you, but don’t want you to learn the same way I did.” He licked his lips, and rested his hands gently on her shoulders.. “It won't be easy for you to hear it, but you must. If I don't make it back, you're the only hope for the Alliance.” 

Leia clearly didn’t expect that, and she shook her head, denying. Luke closed his eyes against her words, ducking his head. Still, he did not let go. 

“Luke, don't talk that way. You have a power I—I don't understand and could never have.” 

It sounded so reasonable, but Luke shook his head. It just—wasn’t true. 

“You're wrong, Leia,” Luke said, continuing to talk even when Leia’s head began to shake once more—as if she wasn’t even aware she was doing it. “You have that power too. In time you'll learn to use it as I have.” Somehow. Some way. There was no one left to teach her. Luke’s path was clear. 

“The Force is strong in my family. My father has it...I have it...and,” Luke held her eyes. “My sister has it.”

Leia stared back, searching his face, but Luke saw the moment she let herself listen to the truth of his words, to the Force that surrounded them. 

“Yes. It's _you,_ Leia.” Luke squeezed her shoulders gently, offering all he could to her. 

“I know,” Leia said softly. Inside Luke, something rejoiced. _Family._ “Somehow...I've always known.” 

Luke nodded, and pushed. “Then you know why I have to face him.” 

Leia pulled away. “No! Luke, run away, far away. If he can feel your presence, then leave   
this place.” Like an echo, Luke could hear her the way he had on Bespin, in Cloud City, _I don’t want to lose any more family to that monster._ “I wish I could go with you.” She turned away. 

“No, you don't.” Luke said, fond. He knew her far too well. One week, he’d give her, before they were back in trouble, back in the fight. She cared too much for anything else. “You've always been strong.” 

Leia shook her head, and Luke wasn’t surprised to see tears gathering at the corner of her eyes, from frustration or fear or anger. “Why?” Her voice strained, and broke. 

Luke’s right hand balled into a fist, helpless. “Because...there is good in him. I've felt it. He won't turn me over to the Emperor. I can save him. I can turn him back—to the good side.” Luke opened his palm, let everything fall away until he was at peace. ”I have to try.”


	8. Chapter 8

The stormtroopers who were on patrol outside the door to the shield generator were well prepared for Luke when he arrived, bringing their blasters to bear as he stepped from the shadows. He stilled long before the one yelled “Freeze!” and raised his arms above his head, palms open to show that he concealed no weapon. Luke wasn’t surprised that they were on high alert, considering their little adventure earlier with the speeder bikes. 

He was a bit surprised when they stayed frozen in stalemate; clearly, the troopers didn’t expect any of the rebels to surrender so easily. 

It was on the tip of Luke’s tongue to taunt them, to mock them for their hesitation, but he kept his silence. He wasn’t a distraction this time. If the next few hours went according to plan, Luke would be before the Emperor, and he’d rather not have been taken into...aggressive custody beforehand. 

“Comm the commander,” the trooper who’d shouted said. After a moment the blast doors opened behind them and a half-team of troopers fell out, a uniformed officer striding out after them. He carried a blaster in his hand, but the way he moved, without any thought of cover, told Luke that this man was fast-tracked through some branch other than combat. Even the troopers moved to be smaller targets when they could. 

The first troopers reached Luke, pulling his arms down and binding them together in front of him. A second patted him down. Luke was thankful that he had left his blaster behind, as he wasn’t sure what reaction it would have evoked. It was painful enough when the trooper unceremoniously yanked his lightsaber from his belt. 

“Sir,” he said, his voice tinny through the helmet speakers, and the commander took hold of Luke’s saber. He turned it over his his hands, his thumb hovering over the ignition switch. Luke held his breath, but the commander didn’t light it. 

“What’s this?” The commander said, sneering. “A lightsaber? Do you fancy yourself a Jedi traitor as well a Rebel? Pathetic.” He slipped the ‘saber onto his own belt. “Take him to the transport,” he barked. “I’ll inform Lord Vader myself.” The commander turned back to Luke, his sneer growing in malicious glee. Luke raised an eyebrow in return. 

 

“Lord Vader will want to see to you personally, Rebel. He enjoys conducting the more...thorough interrogations himself. Of course,” he offered, “If you give us the location of the other rebels, it can be...easier for you.” 

Luke simply looked back until the commander’s sneer twisted down and he gestured sharply. Luke was prodded into motion by a sharp jab in his back from the stormtrooper’s blaster, and the rest of the squad fell into step around him. 

The shield door that the Alliance had targeted was, by design, the most remote. Therefore, Luke was place on the back of a speeder to take him to the AT-AT docking station. From there he was transferred inside and strapped into a seat, bracketed on both sides by troopers. The commander disappeared into the forward compartment, the “head,” and soon after he reappeared, the metal beast began to move. 

There was far more motion than Luke was expecting, a greater sway side-to side. But then again, Luke hadn’t spent much time in legged transport, preferring hover-models and anti-gravs—anything that could get him flying. He didn’t much care for this, and soon had to dedicate more energy simply to keeping his focus on the present moment and not on his rebelling stomach or the queasy tightness behind his jaw. 

“You’re a quiet one,” The commander commented. “That’ll change. You’ll talk, and the others will die.”

“There are no others,” Luke said. 

“It speaks!” The Commander cried out. “It lies, but it speaks. Where are they?” 

“There are no others.” 

The commander snorted. “We’ll find them soon enough without you, anyway.” 

Luke looked at him, and the commander smirked. “Oh, you’ll look at me now, will you? You rebels are all alike. You think you’re so tough, but you’ll break in the end. Everyone breaks in the end.” 

Of course, it would serve this _sleemo_ right if Luke did throw up on him. 

The slow, rambling transport ride took the better part of two hours. Luke was able to hold his composure only by virtue of slipping into meditation whenever the commander would leave him be. It wasn’t much, and it wasn’t often, but it was enough that Luke didn’t fall when he stood or stumble when he was forced to walk. 

The door unsealed, and on the other side was Darth Vader. 

The commander gave his report, as perfunctory as it was, and Luke thought idly that brevity was probably a virtue when faced with Vader’s legendary temper. Not that Luke was really listening. It was hard to concentrate on anything except Vader’s thunderous presence. 

Vader was watching him, Luke knew, though Vader was turned away—the way Vader had watched him whenever he had found him, with a greedy consuming gaze, as if he could make Luke part of him. 

This time Luke stared back and stepped willingly into the darkness. 

It was enough to make Vader turn. He held Luke’s lightsaber in his hand, and Luke thought Yoda would thwack his leg for bringing his weapon with him, (or maybe the rules were different for entering a Sith stronghold), but Luke had given it up willingly. It had to count for something. The light from the blade was not the light needed here. 

When Luke was a boy, just old enough to get into serious trouble, he got stuck in Beggar’s Canyon when his speeder malfunctioned and overheated. It was a fixable problem, once the engine had cooled enough, but it would take time and the suns were already setting. By the time the engine was cool, night had taken the sky and Luke couldn’t see to work. So he pushed the speeder as best he could under the lee of a rock and climbed into a crevasse, hoping it wasn’t home to another desert-dweller. 

It was black as pitch in that crevasse, and Luke’s eyes took a long minute to adjust. When they did, he was surprised to notice that he could still see. Squinting, he could just make out the faint spirit-blue outline of the rocks behind him: phosphorescent light, deep in the darkness, just faint enough to be hidden to any but those who came near. 

Luke, adjusting to the Dark that surrounded him, looked for that tell-tale blue glow of light nearly extinguished. 

(There, in the distance, choked with dark vines, was a pale blue shimmer like moonlight on water.)

Vader sent the commander away with an order to bring the others to him, and Luke refocused on the present. Vader turned, and Luke walked with him. 

“The Emperor has been expecting you,” Vader said. It was an odd way to open the conversation. Not “I have been expecting you,” or “So, you return to me at last.” 

A warning, perhaps? That the Emperor was aware and watching? 

“I know, father.” _”I hear what you do not say.”_

“So you have accepted the truth,” Vader said, but he sounded...despondent. Not disappointed, but resigned. Perhaps he hadn’t heard what Luke had truly said. 

It would not do to have misconceptions. “I've accepted the truth that you were once Anakin Skywalker, my father,” Luke snapped. 

Vader turned to face him, sticking his finger in Luke’s face. “That name no longer has any meaning for me,” he said. Luke heard the “or for you, if you wish to live,” loud and clear. 

But Luke did not get as far as he had by playing it safe. 

He pushed. 

“It is the name of your true self. You've only forgotten.” Luke spoke quickly, knowing their window was short. If the Emperor knew Luke was here, then it might already be too late—but Luke had never let that stop him before. “I know there is good in you. The Emperor hasn't driven it from you fully,” he said, seeing in his mind the faint blue glow. What that must have looked like before Anakin’s fall—he would have been _brilliant_. No wonder Obi-Wan looked so broken by the loss.

“That is why you couldn't destroy me,” Luke said with more confidence than he felt. Time for the gamble. He turned away, leaning against the railing and looking out over the forest below them, so different than the desert he had known for so long. 

“That's why you won't bring me to your Emperor now.”

And Luke waited, counting the seconds as he felt Vader wrestling with what Luke had said. Hope beat in his chest—if Luke didn’t have a chance, there would be no conflict. 

“I see you have constructed a new lightsaber,” Vader said, as if Luke hadn’t spoken at all—as if _he_ had some hand in Luke’s training. (Like a father, taking note of his son’s education?)

Then he heard Vader ignite Luke’s own lightsaber, and wondered if he hadn’t miscalculated after all. He felt a shiver of fear down his spine, trailing cold ice in its wake as he realized that this might be where he died. Slowly, Luke turned to face his fate head-on. 

“Your skills are complete,” Vader said. The vocoder made it hard to read his tone, but Luke thought he might had heard pride in Vader’s voice. Pride and fear.

(How much of Vader’s temper hid fear?, Luke wondered, suddenly. He fell to the Dark for family.) 

“Indeed, you are powerful, as the Emperor has foreseen.” Regret, perhaps? That Luke was a threat large enough for Vader to have to deal with? To see Luke stumbling at the beginning of a path that would take him down the same road as Vader?

To see Luke in position to be forced to kneel before Vader’s emperor.

(We can defeat the Emperor, and rule the galaxy as father and son.)

Not simply ambition, Father, was it? 

Vader extinguished Luke’s lightsaber,and Luke stepped forward. 

“Come with me,” Away from this; away from _him_. 

But Vader stood still, neither reaching for Luke nor turning him aside. “Obi-Wan once thought as you do,” Vader said, and Luke was startled to hear that name from him. 

_“He still does,_ Luke said, quietly—so quietly that Luke wasn’t sure Vader heard it—except for the way Vader’s presence flickered. His breathing never changed pace, and the sound filled the void between them. 

“You don't know the power of the dark side,” Vader said, and for the first time it sounded like a plea. “I must obey my master.” 

And Luke _knew_ then, with dreadful clarity, that Vader was well aware of his own shackles. Vader, who was Anakin, who was born a slave and all too familiar with being the _property_ of another, had chafed and ached against Palpatine’s control for over twenty years. 

Had Anakin ever truly known freedom as Luke had? 

Luke shook his head. “I will not turn...and you'll be forced to kill me.” 

“If that is your destiny,” Vader rumbled, and Luke recognized the evasion, the phrasing that neither said yes or no—the safest way to deny a command. 

Luke stepped forward again; he was running out of time. “Search your feelings, father. You can't do this. I feel the conflict within you. Let go of your hate!”

But Vader did not move, his presence heavy with regret, and his words were filled with meaning. “It is...too late...for me, son.” _But not for you._ “The Emperor will show you the true nature of the Force.” _He will try and bind you, as he his bound me. “He is your master now.” _I am sorry.__

_Vader raised his hands, and the troopers that had been left guarding the door came forward, standing on either side of Luke. Luke didn’t look away, staring him down. There was too much Darkness for Luke to repel on his own. If Anakin wouldn’t fight…._

_Well._

_“Then my father is truly dead.”_

_***_

__“You have failed, your highness. I am a Jedi—like my father before me.”_ _

__“So be it, Jedi.”_ _

_***_

__Father! Please!”_ _

_Luke opened his eyes, pain dazed and still twitching. The roaring in his ears faded to a rhythmic hiss like a gasping valve._

_Like gasping breath._

__Father!_ _

_Luke looked over, and Vader lay against the broken railing of the observation deck. His ventilator was damaged, creating that horrific gasping. Grasping his arm, Luke pulled, rolling his father over. (He had saved him, Luke knew. The room no longer had that oppressive Darkness, the taint fading with the death of the Emperor—but Luke didn’t even feel the chill in his spine that twisted under his ribs that usually accompanied Vader’s presence. Instead, where there had been a bloodied, black void, there was light—such light as Luke had ever seen, shining like the twin suns over the blinding sand._

__”Hello, Anakin,”_ Luke thought, and squeezed the mechanical hand in his own. _

__”My...son...”_. _

_***_

Anakin didn’t fade at death, as Ben and Yoda had. It was a riddle, certainly, yet another of the growing collection that Luke doubted he would ever be able to answer, but there was no time to ponder the Force’s mysteries. The warning klaxons were sounding; the shield was down and the base was under attack. Luke knew the plan, knew how long the run on the reactor would take—the Force was fairly screaming its danger— 

Luke had already managed to get his father to the shuttle bay. He could carry him a little farther. 

Putting aside his grief and pushing past his pain and exhaustion, Luke dragged Anakin’s body, armor and all, up the shuttle ramp. 

Somehow he got his father’s body secured and the shuttle warmed up. He lifted off just as the Force screamed at him, accelerating far sooner than he would have expected, trusting in the force to guide his steering, erupting from the fireball that filled the hangar and nearly pulled them down in flames. 

Luke breathed in sharply, the world once again his own in his mind, and carefully guided them down to the moon’s surface. He keyed in the distress signal, and prayed that, if he was spotted, they’d bother to listen before they blew him from the sky. 

By some miracle Luke encountered no obstacles on their way to the surface save for the planet’s own atmosphere. In his desperation to land, Luke touched down a little hard but managed to escape only mildly singed. 

There was a clearing several miles from the Ewok village, on the other side from the shield generator. He had seen it when he was being transported to the Emperor before...everything. It would do, for his purposes. 

Luke landed the shuttle just as the sun sank below the treeline, bringing them to the first minutes of dusk. The shadows turned blue with the coming night, and Luke knew he had to work quickly. It was hard; every joint ached and he moved with a stiffness that belied his age. Even his _hair_ seemed like it ached, and moving about didn’t help, though the stiffness began to fade over time. 

Running on instinct and adrenaline, Luke descended the shuttle ramp and stood in the middle of the clearing. Closing his eyes, he reached out, raising a hand to guide himself, and sent out a thought to the felled branches and dried wood in the brush around him. 

He breathed in. 

Gripping the branches loosely in his mind, Luke lifted, and felt the wood respond, rising into the air as if by magic. Slowly at first, but with gaining speed, the wood began to gather before him, weaving together into dense mat of wood four feet wide by eight feet long by two feet tall. 

Luke breathed out. 

It was fully dark now. How long, exactly, Luke had stayed frozen, holding his breath, he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t breathing heavily or panting; he didn’t feel dizzy. If anything he felt—centered. 

The pyre was ready. 

It took nearly all of his strength to lift his father’s body, heavier than his X-wing by far, but he still was able to settle him on the pyre. Luke had replaced his helmet. Anakin had died in the light, but the suit that had been his prison deserved to be melted to slag. 

On Tatooine, the dead were drained and buried, the waters of their body returned to help the living. No water was wasted. 

The Jedi burned their dead, returning them to the ashes of starstuff that they were. Luke had been prepared to build a pyre for Yoda. When he died, he wondered if he would be burned or buried, returned to the Force or the desert. 

Perhaps there was no real difference. 

Luke lit the torch. Lifting up his prayers for his father’s safe passage, he lit the wood and watched it burn. 

He stood sentry for a long time. 


	9. Chapter 9

The party was in full swing when Luke made his way back to the Ewok village, cold and aching. The skin on his face felt baked raw, like he had spent far too long under the suns, but he grinned anyway when he saw Leia. 

Leia saw him in the same moment (twin, his _twin!_ in truth, and not just in rumor), and ran to him, wrapping her arms around him in a fierce hug. She was shaking, or perhaps he was, but he held her tightly until the tremors settled. She smelled of smoke without the bitter twist of melting plastisteel, of earth and tree and the sweet honey moonshine of the Ewoks. He wanted to tell her everything, to bare his soul while everything was still spinning in his mind (she could help him make sense of things and settle, she always could), but she was grinning for the first time in what felt like ages, honestly grinning, and Luke let himself live in this moment and grin back. 

Then Han was there, and Luke was hugging him, too (so different from the first Death Star—a more mature victory, perhaps? Or more final compared to the desperate scrambling of a severely wounded Alliance? Or maybe it was simply that Han loved Leia more than himself at last, and was all the more settled for it? He had become Luke’s brother in every way that mattered. 

And then it hit home. The Emperor was dead. Vader was gone and Anakin was redeemed. The second Death Star was destroyed and the Empire would be scrambling to recover. The war wasn’t over, not by a long shot, but they had struck such a blow that it was clearly on its last legs. 

There would be time tomorrow for the clean-up, for the politics and minor death-throe skirmishes. 

They had _won_. 

Luke was pulled into the party, driven by the rhythms of the music, swept up in the riot of joy. He was nearly crushed by Chewie’s hug as the wookiee roared in his ear that he was never to go off alone like that again, and that Luke was damn lucky to have returned at all. Luke patted Chewie’s arm as best he could. “I know, Chewie.” 

Lando pulled him away to safety, hugging him tightly and then plating a solid kiss on his lips. Luke reeled a bit, tasting honey-whiskey and roast meat and, for a brief moment, feeling the heat of the desert night before Lando was off again, greeting the next person with a kiss as well. Luke watched him for a moment, feeling both bemused and fond. Lando was certainly Lando. Idly, he wondered if any soul would be brave enough to take Lando up on his offer. 

A solid hand thumped him on the back and Luke nearly staggered into the fire, but he was caught and pulled around by Rex, who was grinning brightly through his beard. Luke grinned back, hugging Rex and catching the old clone by surprise. Luke would tell Rex, too, when things were quieter. He deserved to know. 

A flash of orange caught Luke’s attention, and he knew the pilots had arrived. Some X-wings still flew overhead, setting off fireworks, but they would land soon enough. The battle won, there was little to keep the squads from the party. 

Luke went to greet them in turn, looking for—

Wedge. 

He was turned away, flailing slightly as Lando greeted him as well, and Luke felt a frisson of something that could turn into jealousy if he let it—so he didn’t, letting the feeling go and going to get Wedge. 

As he skirted the fire, he saw a flash of Force-blue in the darkness, and turned away to get a better look. He stepped off, bracing his arm against the outer wall of the main building, and felt a grin stretch across his face. 

Ben was there, smiling proudly, and Yoda stood next to him. While Ben looked younger than Luke could remember him being, Yoda looked much the same, though he was still leaning on that gimer stick. As he watched, a third form began to take shape—that of a young man, no older than Luke himself, with a riot of curls and a scar over one eye: Anakin, as he had been before his fall. He looked down at his hands, one still gloved, Luke noticed, and when he looked up he looked older, his frame thickening and a beard covering his chin.

This was his father as he was meant to be—without the pain and the dark and the suit. 

_”Remember your training,”,_ Luke heard Yoda say. 

_”Live in the moment,_ ” Ben said. 

_”The Force will be with you,_ ” Anakin said. _”As will I. Always.”_

A touch on his arm—Leia drawing him back to the celebration—and Luke looked back over his shoulder. The ghosts watched on. 

A new day was dawning.

***

Luke found Wedge as the horizon began to lighten. He was tipsy, there was no way to avoid it—Ewoks made strong booze—but he was still upright, still thinking. Wedge stared at him for a long moment, like Luke was a welcome ghost. 

Then Wedge was up and Luke was moving, and they were wrapped around each other, kissing desperately. Luke kissed Wedge’s cheeks, his nose, his eyes, and Wedge laughed and tried to do the same, nipping at Luke’s jaw as he went past, holding Luke tightly. 

“Han said you had been on that thing,” Wedge said in Luke’s ear. Luke nodded. 

“I got out,” he said. Obviously he was here, but some things needed to be said. “I made it out.” 

And then Wedge shoved him back. “Why were you even there in the first place?! You knew what we were trying to do!”

“The Emperor knew,” Luke said, but it wasn’t what he had planned on saying. He had planned on apologizing, but nothing he could think of now would matter. “He knew—that’s why it was operational ahead of schedule. It was a trap. If the assault failed—I had my mission.” 

Wedge stared at him for a long moment, blinking slowly and thinking hard through the moonshine fuzz. “You were going to assassinate the Emperor.” 

Well, that would certainly be a better story. “I was there to face Vader,” Luke said. “My final test. I’m a Jedi Knight now. Like my father.” 

Wedge blinked at him, and Luke knew that it would sound strange since Wedge knew about Vader, but there would be time for that story in the morning. Or perhaps he was thinking of the way the Jedi used to live, isolated and remote from the world. Luke didn’t want Wedge to think that Luke was trying to say goodbye. He stepped forward, gripping Wedge by the front of his flight suit. “Live in the moment,” he said, and kissed him. 

Wedge’s arms wrapped around Luke’s waist and held on tightly. 

With the sun on the horizon, there were fewer and fewer convenient dark corners to disappear into, but many of the revelers had passed out where they and fallen and the rest were focused still on the fire and the music. The heat was high in Luke’s blood and he didn’t much care. He backed Wedge up against the far wall of an outer hut, unzipping Wedge’s flightsuit and reaching inside with his flesh hand, feeling warm skin. He was surprised when he felt Wedge’s hands at his own waist, pulling at the bottom of his tunic, but he stepped back and let Wedge strip it from him. 

Luke slid open Wedge’s suit, stepping in chest to chest, feeling the heat of him, smelling engine oil and moonshine and sweat, and it didn’t take much at all to peel Wedge out of his suit, to kick it away into the darkness. Luke’s own clothes followed, stuck on boots that undid themselves with a helpful twist of the Force, and then it was skin on skin in the warmth of the night, and it was hot between them, a frantic undulation —Friction and heat and the drum rhythm driving between them. 

Neither of them lasted long—it had been too long, their adrenalin was too high—but it crashed around them all the same, and when Luke’s ears stopped ringing, he heard the harmonies around him. 

Luke had just enough left in him to get them to a guest hut, grabbing what clothes clothes he could. He was pretty sure he was missing a boot. Wedge tripped over the jumpsuit still around his ankles and fell into the fur-covered bed, idly kicking the fabric off of his feet. Luke dropped his clothes by the door and crawled in after him. 

They slept. 

Later, after the sun had climbed too high to peer in the doorway, Luke woke still naked, draped over the furs with his head pillowed in Wedge’s lap. Wedge was running his fingers in strange patterns across Luke’s back. 

“These are new,” Wedge said, his voice as soft as the light around them. 

Luke hummed, still drifting with the dust that floated by. “What’re new?” 

“These scars.” 

Luke frowned, feeling himself settle back down into his body once more. “What scars?” he asked. 

Wedge’s fingers paused, and then very deliberately ran a meandering line down Luke’s back, then again, and again. “You have scars, here,” Wedge said, and Luke could hear the concern in Wedge’s voice. “Like lightning.” 

Like—”Oh,” Luke said. Lightning-marks. A momento of his final moments at the mercy of the Emperor. “I hadn’t realized it had left marks.” 

Stillness, and then. “What had left marks?” 

Luke...didn’t want to say. He was tired—tired of explaining, certainly. He still had so much to say, to Leia, to Han, to Command. He was due to meet Rex later, and would tell the story of the final redemption of Anakin Skywalker. 

But this was _Wedge,_ who had inched his way into Luke’s heart. So, Luke told him in quiet tones, in stuttering words, of the final confrontation with the Emperor. He told of his plan—to face and turn Darth Vader—and how far he was willing to go to see the Emperor destroyed. 

“A _suicide_ —” Wedge cut himself off, and pressed his lips together. He did not speak until Luke went on, and his hands never stilled on Luke’s back. 

Luke told him about Vader’s goad, about the Emperor’s delight in seeing another Skywalker fall—and of the moment Luke realized the choice before him, and said no. 

Luke spoke of the lightning as best as he could remember it, which wasn’t well, and his father’s final act, which he couldn’t remember at all, but knew had to happen. 

“Sithspit,” Wedge breathed. “Have you been to medical?” 

Luke sighed. “I’m fine,” he said, and finally picked his head up to look at Wedge. Wedge did not look convinced, so Luke said again, “I’m _fine_ ,” and pushed himself up to go about proving it. 

Wedge’s mouth was stiff under his when Luke kissed him, twisted into an unhappy frown, but Luke just kept his lips gentle, his tongue teasing, and Wedge slowly softened, kissing back. 

The forest around the village wasn’t quiet, no forest every truly was, but the village itself was slow outside of their hut, still recovering from the celebration of the night before, and Luke loved the way it pressed around them, amplifying the sounds of their kisses—heavy breaths and muffled moans.

Luke pulled back. “See?” he whispered into the space between them, kissing Wedge again because Wedge was _right there_ and he _had to_ it was _imperative—_

“I don’t know, Ex-Boss,” Wedge said, rasping. “I might need some more convincing.” He licked his lips, and Luke was transfixed by their shine. “I have some stuff in my suit,” Wedge said. “Last night, I was too...I forgot.” 

Stuff. Luke held out a hand, calling Wedge’s suit to him with a thread of the Force (and he could almost _hear_ Yoda’s huff, but Luke really didn’t give a womp rat’s ass at the moment). THe orange suit landed in his hand, and Wedge shook his head. 

“Handy, that,” he said, and fumbled to find the right pocket. “Ah!” he cried, pulling a small pot free and holding it out to Luke. The pot was metal of some kind, with a screw-top lid. It was unlabeled in a way that meant it was never labeled rather than worn clean. Luke dropped Wedge’s suit and took the pot, unscrewing it curiously. 

The unmistakable over-sweet smell of fruit made him scrunch his nose. “Bacta?” he asked, but that wasn’t quite right. The medicinal scent was missing, leaving only the sweetness. 

“Kind of,” Wedge said. “Same base, but Bacta is good for more than just healing. This is Batch—best ‘personal lubricant’ in the galaxy.” 

Luke scooped a little onto his finger, feeling the way the Batch moved like gel, but it never thinned, never dried to make his fingers tacky. His eyebrows raised. “I’ve never heard of the stuff.” 

Wedge shrugged. “It was developed in the Clone Wars, and was really popular for a while, but as far as I know, the Brothers are the only ones who make it. There’s a thriving market in the Alliance.” Luke nodded, looking back down at his hand. 

“Wedge,” Luke said, a strange calm coming over him. “Did you fly against the Death Star with this in your pocket?” 

Wedge grinned. “I fly every mission with that in my pocket. Just in case.” 

Luke closed his eyes, swallowing hard, but it was no use. The images played themselves out behind his eyelids—Wedge bent over his cockpit, flight suit around his ankles as he prepared himself—Luke with his legs up in the locker room, Wedge between them, the scent of fruit thick in the air—Wedge, now, spread open before him. 

Luke opened his eyes, to find the last was no fantasy. Wedge had pulled one leg up, wrapping an arm around it to keep it out of the way, keep himself on display, and his other hand was around his cock, stroking himself. 

“ _Fuck_ ” Luke breathed, and without thinking he scooped more of the lube and pressed two fingers against Wedge’s exposed hole, rubbing firmly as Wedge cried out, remembering to muffle the sound halfway through his cry, biting down on his lip. 

There must be something to this Batch, Luke thought distantly, as Wedge yielded easily to his fingers, and Luke was sliding in with one, and then two fingers far faster than he thought he could. Wedge’s skin was flushed deep red, spreading down his chest, and Luke pressed his gloved hand to Wedge’s stomach, holding him down, holding him still, and crooked his fingers. 

Wedge’s hand flew from his cock to clamp over his mouth, and Luke wrapped his hand around it, softly cupping. He didn’t stroke, the leather would catch too much and be painful, but he squeezed gently, and Wedge whined behind his hand. 

Luke pulled out, scooping a bit more Batch, and returned with three fingers, pushing in slowly, so very slowly, and Wedge groaned low and long until Luke was pressed in to his knuckles and couldn’t move any more. 

Still, Luke waited for Wedge to come back to the moment, to center himself in his skin, and it didn’t take long for Wedge to open his eyes, to _look_ at Luke, and begin to rock back against Luke’s hand. 

When Luke’s fingers could trust smoothly, he pulled them free, and Wedge finally pulled his hand from his mouth, hooking it under the knee of his other leg, pulling that one back, too. Spread wide, Wedge watched Luke with eyes darkened and blown wide with lust. 

Luke swallowed, slicking his own cock, and kneeling to line himself up. This was the moment that Luke loved the most the precious seconds before he pressed in, where all that they could be was there, waiting—and then Luke was pressing in, and Wedge’s jaw had grown slack around a cry that never came. Never slowing, Luke sank in fully, lost to tight, hot, wet. 

Breathing harshly, Luke rocked back and forward again, a shallow thrust that pulled a soft “ah,” from Wedge. So Luke did it again, and again, until he could pull back and thrust fully. Wedge was fully surrendered to it, his soft, rhythmic cried keeping their rhythm even when Luke switched between long, even strokes and short rolling thrusts. 

Luke braced a hand on the furs above Wedge’s shoulder, the other turning Wedge’s face to him, and the change in angle made Wedge cry out into Luke’s waiting mouth. 

“Lu—Luke,” Wedge managed, pulling back and pressing against Luke’s cheek. “P—pl—lease!” 

Luke nodded, releasing Wedge’s face to curl his hand around Wedge’s neglected cock, stroking fast and tight. 

Wedge didn’t last long, coming fiercely between them, his body writhing, tightening, and Luke lost himself in the static. 

Dropping back into his body, Luke carefully slipped free, searching Wedge’s suit once more for a cleansing wipe and cleaning them both up. Wedge lay on the furs, grinning up at the ceiling, with no clear intent to move, and Luke couldn’t help but press himself against Wedge’s chest, letting Wedge wrap his arms around him. 

Luke tilted his head up, kissing Wedge softly in the way lovers do, and tucked his head under Wedge’s chin. 

_Later they would move, gathering their discarded clothing, and rejoin the others. Luke would tell his story to Leia and Han, who do a fairly good job at pretending the whole village didn’t overhear Wedge and Luke celebrate that morning, and Lando who makes no effort to pretend. He would tell his story to command, and to Rex and a spy leader named Fulcrum, who would look at Luke like she had seen a welcome ghost._

_The legend of Luke Skywalker would grow with his efforts to resurrect—no, _reinvent_ the Jedi, who would know compassion and live with love. They would not repeat the mistakes of the past. _

_He could see it, his path stretching out before him into the haze of the distant future._

_He always was good at looking at where he was going._

**Author's Note:**

> *If you recognize the dialogue, chances are it’s from the film directly.  
> **some dialogue is taken from the Star Wars Radio play.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for "Attachments" by scarletjedi](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10837509) by [convallaria_majalis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/convallaria_majalis/pseuds/convallaria_majalis)
  * [Tatooine Goodbye](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10869864) by [ErrantNight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErrantNight/pseuds/ErrantNight)




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